Tindell Baldwin »

If anyone is like me and grew up in Sunday school they remember hearing, “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” I used to cling to that, pretty sure I had it written on my trapper keeper, but then life came and I found that I had far more than I could handle. Hurts came, loss came, lies came, and the words in cursive letters on my middle school notebooks didn’t hold up. I had far more than I could ever handle.

I’m not really one to ask for help, I like to tell everyone about my life but I don’t like asking other people to step into my mess. Independence has always been my mantra, most likely a product of being the third child in a house full of boys but relying on others has always felt scary. So I liked the idea that God wouldn’t give me more than I could handle because then I could keep my faith and trust in myself.

Then I became an adult.

I don’t know when it actually happened, it’s a lot like puberty, it sneaks up on you one day at a time. It was probably somewhere between the marriage and two kids.  I realized that while the Sunday school answer looked really pretty on my binders it wasn’t true. Blame it on God or just life but we constantly have more than we can handle. Our worlds are full and busy and a lot of time they are full of pain and burdened with worry. I have come to learn, after many a break down, that the point isn’t to be able to handle it, the point is to rely on our heavenly father to get through it all. Now I know, that sounds equally as churchy but there is something beautiful about realizing you need help. When we stop trying to hold all the pieces of our life in place we accept the beautiful surrender of a life full of God.

When I started this whole writing bit I was 23… I was newly married, in a town where I knew no one, and worked part time. I spent most of my time writing at Starbucks and snuggling with the dog who now lives outside. I was so anxious for God to use me. My schedule was wide open and I pretty much spent two years waiting on a Yes. Then the book happened, babies happened, sleep deprivation happened, and all the sudden I had plenty of people asking me if I would say yes. However all I wanted to do is stay in my yoga pants and drink copious amounts of coffee and hope it inspires me to get out of the house.

Right now, I am in a season of not being able to handle all that comes across my plate and I am constantly asking God why. Why not three years ago when I didn’t have kids and had an open schedule? Why now when I have so little energy and emotion to give? Why now when all the good babysitters seem to have vanished (joking)?

His answer always seems to be the same…. Because you need me now. And its true. Safe in my cozy pre kid life, I was ready to do ministry… for me. I didn’t have bad intentions or dreams of fame but I wanted to perform. Now I just want a solid night’s sleep… kidding… what I really want is a faith that will change my family (and a solid nights sleep). I honestly don’t care at all if my “ministry” fails as long as my need for God doesn’t diminish. I might have started with a slightly skewed view of what my future held but, in my new reality, I have come to accept that I can’t do this thing without God. Any of it. I can’t be a good wife, I can’t be the mom my kids need, and I have no message to give without his grace, love, and mercy pouring out on me. So each day I’ll offer up my desperate prayers and thank him for knowing that my life will only be as great as my need for him is.

There was a saying in my house growing up, “if one person tells you that you are a horse ignore them, but if three people tell you that you are a horse buy a saddle.” So whenever I was being a brat but insisting that I was not in-fact being a brat my brothers would all start saying “saddle up Tindell, saddle up.” It was really infuriating because, despite my best attempts to annoy them by stomping around and exhaling loudly they would just yell “saddle up.” I like to think I’m a better person because of incidents like this but in reality I think it just made them grateful they didn’t marry dramatic women.

Anyway back to the saddle, there is this epidemic going on where honest feedback is no longer welcomed. In fact there seems to be a new policy, I won’t tell you that you’re being a brat if you don’ tell me I’m being a brat. Let me just go ahead and say we all need a good talking to every now and then. Honest feedback is the breeding ground for real change.

There are so many times I have looked back in life and thought why did no one tell me?! Like when I was wearing a skirt to my oldest brothers rehearsal dinner that looked like I was taking a lunch break from hooters. Or when I was dating a guy in college who was all wrong me and yet I wasted a lot of time, energy, and journal pages wondering if it was just “part of being in real relationship?”  Or when I got a dog in college after another broken heart and he was a terror to my roommates and now terrorizes my current home (he is currently seeking a new home to terrorize… interested?). I looked back and asked WHERE WERE MY REAL FRIENDS? To which their response was always the same, you weren’t open to real feedback. In my dad’s words I was a “porcupine that needed a hug.”

As Christians we have to stop thinking we are all this separate entity that can function just fine on its own and if we fail, oh yea… grace abounds. Do we have to listen to every voice that comes across our social media accounts? No! But if your entire small group is saying don’t date him maybe listen. If your best friends are warning you that you might not want the dog in 10 years when he is STILL peeing on your carpet, maybe take that into consideration. And if the skirt doesn’t come past the top of your thigh… ok that one should be common sense.  In the words of my brother’s…saddle up. There are things we need to hear from people that love us. There are things we can’t see when we are emotionally involved. There are times when we need to hear while grace does abound, there are consequences.

However, you have to be willing to ask along with willing to listen. You have to come humbly before God with your questions instead of pretending to have all the answers. Because sometimes in the midst of our greatest turmoil there is a quiet voice beckoning us to look honestly at the role we play in our own disaster.

We all have accomplishments we secretly hope our kids make, I know this is true because my kids are only two and five months and, if I’m really honest, I have dreamed of things for them. For Claire (who is two) I have dreamed of a life of grace… I was not a graceful person. In fact in college my sorority nominated me for a pageant which involved a VERY simple (I’m talking spirit fingers kind of simple) choreographed dance and the teacher would constantly have to circle back around and ask if my uncoordinated 5’10 frame could do the the very entry level move. I couldn’t and I can promise you I was never asked to do such things again. I joked that my head was just too far from my feet. So for her I have dreamed of grace because if I’m honest I was always lacking on it. For Briggs I picture Friday night football games and us cheering him on from the stands. I don’t know why it just feels very picturesque, like what you imagine having babies is like before you actually have babies. Truthfully, I will cheer my kids on from whatever stands they let me cheer from. I don’t care if Claire decides she likes softball instead of ballet (which is more likely since she currently runs into walls… genetics are so unforgiving) or if Briggs loves chess instead of football what matters is that they let me come.

However we all have certain things we are dreaming off…real life stuff, the stuff that really matters. Stuff like planning a wedding with your daughter, or watching a graduation, welcoming your first grandbaby, or just seeing them settled into a life they love. The list in my head of check marks that will let me rest as a parent are long. Then today as I sat with my arm around my two year old, her little hands clutching her bunny and her new Kermit the frog stuffed animal, I realized I really only have one dream that matters. I don’t care about the sports I get to see, the degrees on the wall, the stands I might cheer from, or even picking out that perfect wedding dress.

The walk I want to see them make is that walk down the aisle towards a commitment with a savior. The stand I want to see her take is when she stands in some church or prays a prayer on bended knee that asks the question that will change the whole trajectory of her life. I want to see my kids put their faith in Jesus. I don’t say this because it’s Christmas or because it’s the right answer I say it because my life wouldn’t have any merit if I hadn’t found Jesus or more accuracy if he hadn’t saved me. I say that because as I watched parents and their children walk down the aisle today acknowledging acceptance of Jesus into their heart I prayed a simple prayer, “God please let me get to see my kids come to know you.” Because of all the dreams I hold this is the only one that gives them life. Of all the prayers I make this is the only one that gives me hope. Of all the things I wish for them I know that none of it matters without a relationship with a God that made himself human for us. There are very few things I would say without hesitation or questioning but this I know to be true, a life lived without Jesus is not a life worth living.

Tonight as a I wrap up tiny presents for my babies I am praying to a huge God who made himself so small for us. Not small in glory and not small in significance but small so we could behold him in a way that made him real. Small that made him tangible. This Christmas that is my real wish that one day I would get celebrate this holy night with their hearts that fully understand.

Matthew 1:23

²³ “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel”^[a] (which means “God with us”).

I had a friend tell me when I was pregnant with Claire that you either get rocked by one baby or rocked by two. I was shaken by one for sure but for the most part I loved being a mom. I had a new found love for this little life and caring for her. I loved watching her experience new things, take her first steps, and her little personality grow each day. It was a sort of beautiful adjustment that went pretty seamlessly.

I handled the first baby so well I figured why not expanding my mothering skills by adding another baby to grace this world. Since you know… I had this under control (this would be the part of the plot chart where we have hit the top of the hill and are making the decent down). I had the house clean enough most of the time, had date nights on a regular basis, was reading through the bible in a year with ben, and was taking extra time to teach Claire about Jesus. I was giving myself mental pats on the back for keeping life under control and I was enjoying it too. Inside the little book we all keep in our heads that evaluates how well we are doing at life I was checking my boxes.

Then Briggs was born. Another amazing gift that surprised us when he arrived three weeks early (key word surprised.. like my hospital bag wasn’t packed) and I knew it would be hard but I thought I’d still be able to check my boxes. However, whereas Claire had molded my world with her tiny hands Briggs had cracked it right apart. I couldn’t perform or pretend to have it all together. I couldn’t create images that looked shiny and pretty most days because I was in a haze of toddler toys and baby screams. I was (and still am thanks to a new wave of sickness) sleep deprived and frustrated. I was cranky most nights. I was bitter that going to the grocery store was a big outing for me and I was angry that pretty much all of my dreams would have to be put on hold for a while. I loved Briggs so much but my selfish nature flared up and I was just lost. Plus my favorite pair of jeans didn’t fit (you see how bad things were…. Sarcasm…. A lot of it)

So one night when I had sort of reached the pinnacle of my frustration and danced at my own pity party for far too long I took out my journal and wrote that I just felt like I was getting an F in every category. I could no longer check all of my boxes and my new reality was just too much. The rest of the world around me seemed to be handling their 2 OR MORE kids just fine and I was drowning. I sat in silence and heard the quite reminder of the gospel tell me that he never needed my performance. He wasn’t asking me to check off my mental boxes that decided whether I was doing ok or not, he was asking me to lean into him and let his love free me.

So if you are like me and have entered a season where you have been cracked apart and can’t hold it together let the truth of Jesus’s words wash over you, “I have come so that you have life, and have it to the full” (john 10:10) the first part of that verse we know well it’s the second part we forget. The first part says, “the enemy comes to steal, kill and destroy.” The enemy comes whispering that God has expectations of perfection over Jesus’s invitation to simply come. He comes telling us that God needs all of our boxes checked instead of the truth that God loves us the same no matter the mess. Boxes checked or big fat F by the world’s standards does not change the degree to which he loved you… to death.

No matter if life is easy or hard we need God. We need him to make us new, make us whole, and remind us that our best performance doesn’t make us a Christian. Our best performance doesn’t earn us his love or his respect, it just exhausts us. So lets change our boxes not from whether the house is clean but did our kids feel like a gift from above. Not from did we say the right thing but did we love the right way. Let’s change our attitude from do we have it all together to, do we sit and listen to the one who sent his son as a baby to enter our world. Until we really see Jesus as the savior that walked into our mess, we will spend our efforts trying to clean up for him however, our best attempts are nothing more than a manger bed for the king of the world.

So if the Christmas card you sent feels a little fake and the real story is you are a mess then I know just the guy. He tells you to stop the cleaning and sit at his feet just for a moment. Be made new not because he is impressed by your performance or your efforts but because he loved you enough to come for you.

Fight or flight? It’s what we were taught in school as the two responses to danger. I’d argue that it isn’t just our response to danger but rather just life because who really lives a completely “safe” life. I always knew which one I was. I flew. Far away from what was scaring me. I ended relationships by doing things that caused the other person to end it. I stopped calling friends back when it was too hard because part of me always believed running away was easier than fighting.

There are very few people in my life I have really fought for, mostly they are the ones who sit around my dinner table at Christmas and I like to remind them that they aren’t getting rid of me no matter how hard they try. Early in life I realized that pain hurt (ground breaking I know) but what hurt less was causing the pain. Walking away yourself seemed less painful than what I always thought was the “inevitable” leaving.  Blame it on bad boyfriends or deep seated insecurities either way for a little while it was how I operated.

Fast forward to marriage, where running wasn’t an option. Fast forward to kids, who had no agenda besides spending 24/7 with me. Fast forward to obeying a call I felt God put on my life and realizing responsibilities came with the calling. And here I sit wondering why I want nothing more than to bolt to the nearest Starbucks and just escape for a few hours. I never learned how to fight. I taught myself how to make it easy but what do you do when easy isn’t an option?

What do you do when you can’t outrun your current season? When the laundry won’t fold itself, the words won’t write themselves,  and the kids don’t dress or bath themselves (yet), what do you do when you can’t actually scream into your pillow because your two year old will say “it’s ok mama” making you feel 100% worse. What do you do when there is no actual answer but to fight?

Fight for sanity, fight for love, fight for what you believe in, have been called to, and are doing. Fight to be the woman God has made you to be when the path is hard and you feel utterly alone. Fight when no one else understands except the people who love you most. Fight when you want to crawl back into bed and say, “I’m sorry I’m not here right now please try again when my sanity (or a venti latte) has arrived”, what do you do when life “inevitably” requires a fight? When the job is ending, when the emails are pressing, when the kids are whiny, when life is well…. Worth fighting for.

As a woman I so dearly respect put it “you live a life that requires God” (Jennie Allen Restless). In all my years of flying I never had Jesus to tell me I wouldn’t be fighting alone. I never had the comfort of knowing that he who began a good work in me would finish it (Philippians 1:6) . I didn’t know I was his workmanship (Ephesians 2:10) or that he was my ever present help in times of trouble (psalm 46). I am learning now that a life lived to please God is a life lived fighting, whether it’s against the patterns of this world, the father or lies, or just our own selfish nature, a life lived for God is one that requires much more of us. But I have come to find that what is better than avoiding pain is staying and fighting for a God who has already won for me.

I did the atkins diet in high school, pretty incorrectly I should add, I don’t remember why… I’m sure I had some life altering event like a spring break full of tiny bikinis or a prom dress that involved actually body morphing to fit into. I remember thinking I needed to loose five pounds and FAST (because when you are 16 there is no time to spare) and I read about this diet where you could eat all fat and cut out bread. In my head this was perfect because I could eat a hamburger without a bun and there was no need for bacon to be sandwiched between something that would only diminish its flavor. So I served myself three heaping meals of meat, very little veggies and fruits, and was sick with in one week.  I stuck to it for a few weeks until I was seriously ill and realizing that maybe I was ok with the extra few pounds.

In reality I never had any real issues with my weight but it didn’t matter what the scale said I always wanted to be thinner.  I was chasing the illusive “thin enough” and I didn’t realize I would never get there. I’d think I was doing pretty well until I saw my friend’s clothes or looked through the latest cosmo magazine and the insecurities would hit like a ton of bricks. Luckily my mom wasn’t the kind to feed the insecurities she was more the kind of mom who fed you TCBY when the day brought tears.

I say all this because I just read about a hot new brand aimed at teenagers that carries one size… small. The article included screen shots of teenage girls tweeting about how depressed they were that they didn’t fit into said brand. I wanted to take each girl out to a little TCBY and tell her that small isn’t the only size. As someone who used to define myself by the size of my pants, and if I’m honest still struggles on days, I can commiserate but what I’d tell them over a nice LARGE cup of frozen yogurt is that beauty has all kinds of looks and sizes. What I’d tell them is while my pants might have gotten a touch larger in this body that has housed and birthed two kids my heart has never felt fuller.

I was thinking about this as I got my daughter dressed this morning, she wrapped her chubby little arms around my neck and smiled because life is still good. I want more than anything to protect her innocence, to shelter her from a world that will start lying to her earlier than I care to admit. A world that will give her one mold to fit into and leave her questioning her worth or starving herself to be someone else’s idea of perfect. A world that tells her small is the only option and if you don’t fit get out.

I haven’t quite figured out how to shut out the lies but my goal is to be even louder with the truth. To tell her she is fearfully and wonderfully made. To tell her God made her with great care. To tell her she is worthy and beautiful and to take her out to a nice big cup of frozen yogurt when that isn’t quite enough.

Psalm 139:14

Article link here http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/10/14/brandy-melville_n_5978626.html

In honor of my very best friend and sister in law who become a mother herself mere days ago

 Welcome to motherhood….

The journey that begins differently, each birth story as unique as the child we bring home. Each story stamped with the reminder that no two of us are the same. Each story like a tale of a personal war we survive, a day in the trenches, in a battle we were never really prepared for. Whether it starts in a delivery room, an OR, or an orphanage it’s a beautiful tale.

 Welcome to motherhood…

Where you listen even when you sleep, where you reveal in first smiles, and breathe in the smell of baby shampoo like a long lost friend. Where the love you experience teaches you more about God than the many years in youth group or Sundays spent at church. Where all the sudden you are only half a person and the other half lies sleeping in your arms.

 Welcome to motherhood…

The job with the worst hours, no pay, and very few vacation days. Yet it’s breath taking, life giving, and soul searching even on the hardest days. Its awe inspiring, confusing, and requires many a desperate prayer. It’s a journey where you reach the destination all along the way. Where you keep moving, keep breathing, and keep praying that you have what it takes. Where melt downs are common and freedom feels lost yet life feels so full. Where you ache when your baby aches, rock them to sleep singing when they spike their first fever, and smile through tears the first time they tell you they love you.

 Welcome to motherhood…

Where we never really have it together, we weep and ache to do right by our babes while maintaining some shred of ourself then we release them into the world that seems to want to steal their innocence at the first bus stop. We are only half the equation, only half of the story, and how we want to be the best half we can be. We long to know we can shed our humanness when we hold another’s life in our very hands but the real test of our love is leaning into the one who created them. We love best when we beg for their souls on behalf of a gracious God. We love them well when we realize the real saving comes from the creator. We hold our hands open and embrace the mess of a life that raising kids is. We embrace that we have no real answers just a very personal God. We accept that our best efforts might be snuffed out from a cold world but all hope is never lost.

 Welcome to motherhood…

The hours of labor, years of waiting, or total surprise that marked the start line of something so beautiful it’s hard to wrap words around it. So we wrap arms around flesh and blood and pray God never asks us to let go. We thought the real test of our strength was in the journey to the child in our arms but that really seems to just be the beginning. The real labor, I’m told, never actually ends. It comes in waves and seasons and in different ebbs and flows of life. From dirty diapers and 3 am wake up calls to tear filled conversations over a daughters broken heart, a lost job, or a family crisis. The real mothering never fully ceases.

My dad gives great advice, I’m talking move over Dear Abby type of stuff, in the midst of a real crisis of self or in need of a pre-speaking pep talk you can find me on the phone with my dad. He always makes me laugh which is a big bonus when you are in crisis mode and I know he will love me the same when we hang up even when I reveal most human selfish thoughts (its one of the perks of being the only daughter). I call him we chat, he makes me laugh, then gives me brilliant advice and I hang up and breathe a little easier.

This past Saturday I was throwing myself quite the pity party that involved the perils of having two small kids and wondering if I was ever going to have a moment to myself or sleep again. I knew I was being quite a brat, but we creative types like to do things all out, so I called the one person who would tell me what I needed to hear without actually telling me that I was being a complete selfish brat. I don’t know where he learned this art but if classes were offered I would advise all dads attend. So I whined and he listened, made a great joke that I can’t remember now, and then told me exactly what I needed to hear.

“Don’t look past today, God has given you everything you need for today.” Deep Breath. This is why God gives us parents for little nuggets of wisdom like that. It wasn’t ground breaking but I had forgotten and I needed to be reminded. Because when we are in the midst of a challenging time we want to know the solution is coming, and quickly… so we look out and when we don’t see anything on the horizon we panic.

He was right every day I have just enough and there in the dependence lies the real beauty. When I have to wake up and beg God for just enough to make it through today. When I have to ask him to open my eyes to the real pain in the world so my tiny world gets blown apart. When I have to wonder where my next dose of patience, love, and kindness will come from, that is real dependence. When I write a verse on my chalkboard not so people think I’m churchy but so I can look at it and remember that Jesus himself said he would give rest to the weary and burdened (pretty sure he was talking to all the moms who had multiple small children….I kid…. Kinda). I realized this was just where I was living these days, in great dependence and with little knowledge of what lay ahead. If I started focusing too much on anything besides just keeping my head above water I was going to exhaust myself so I just needed to trust that I could handle today and then when tomorrow came I would do it all again.

Recently when I was putting Claire to bed we were chatting about her day or to be more exact I was going over the family rules and she was saying “yessam” which translates to “yes mam”. It’s a habit I try to remember to go over our day and most of the time I just tell her she’s awesome and keep reminding her to be awesome. This day though had been hard. For both of us. I needed grace and so did she. As I was tucking her in I told her, “the great thing about going to bed is every morning you get a new chance to start over.” I was really reminding myself and I’m pretty sure she said “barney?” afterwards hoping I might cave in this reflective moment but I kissed her goodnight and thought there was very few things a good sunrise couldn’t undo.