America,

Pray for wisdom. Seek out wisdom in all situations. Find someone wise and then learn all you can from them. Run away from fools' advice/suggestions.

Be smart about whom you choose to associate with. Choose your inner circle carefully.

Never stop asking God for wisdom.

Growth

America,

Today I don't feel Jesus in me. I feel angry, exhausted, frustrated, irritated, ready-to-punch-someone-in-the-face-that-pushes-the-wrong-buttons, grateful, and with a full understanding that my life really is not "bad". The reality here is this: there are no quick fixes in growth. Let me repeat that for emphasis: there are no quick fixes in growth.

My Maker is a Master Craftsman. He has this tool called a chisel, and he uses it to hammer away all of the granite and quartz surrounding me. The thing is, breaking away such hard stone, hurts. Transformation, hurts. We don't move forward to what "is" from what "was" with no battle scars and no challenges. St Paul says: "It is necessary for us to undergo many hardships to enter the kingdom of God." (Acts 22b) I can certainly say that in my own life, St Paul has not been made out to be a liar.

God answers prayer. It's miraculous and utterly impossible to explain, but He does. There isn't a trick to it, or a way to manipulate Him in to giving us what we want. But He answers prayer. In my own life, it is often in ways that hurt.

Last night, I was reminded about how quickly life goes away. It's been so many years since the daily fight-for-life battles with the triplets that kept my brain living in the moment. My child became very sick, very suddenly, and my brain replayed the sudden decline of my Mom, as she battled a similar infection. In my daughter's case, it turned out to be different from my Mom, but the imagery was intense. I was afraid.

As suddenly as the illness came on, her disposition changed (within minutes of prayer). So did mine. The thing with my children is this: they know I know a lot about medical stuff, and if I get scared, then they panic. I asked God to help my child, and to also give me courage, to make me brave, so that I could get her the help she needed, and keep her from being afraid. I was sobbing, and then calm. She was fevered and lethargic, then a chatterbox. We found growth in the few clarified moments that illness can bring.

America, I don't feel Jesus. Right now I feel the pain of the Master Craftsman chiseling away the stone. I feel exhausted, but grateful.

Phase

America,

I was prepared for their birth. I knew it was going to be incredibly difficult. I knew I would be exhausted. I was geared up for the emotional toil of three babies that would have incredible needs, coming at once.

If you follow along with the stories that my letters present, then you know I have triplets. You also have probably read a gazillion times that I don't think having one baby is any less difficult than caring for three. Yes, there are differences. Obviously there are greater demands, physically and financially, but the emotional drain, the self doubt, the constant questioning about whether or not you are ruining your infant's life is the same. Parenting is challenging.

When I think of something as "hard" it usually pertains to emotion. Physical demands simply are, and my body generally adapts to them. Mothering them as littles was not emotionally challenging like I envisioned it would be, but it was very much so physically demanding (exactly what I had prepared for). Yes, they were on death's door so many times I can't even remember them all, but the busy-ness of everything kept my mind preoccupied. The constant physical needs kept me always relying on Jesus for one more minute of energy, one more second of snuggles, one more cup of coffee.

America, I am currently in the "hardest" stage ever. I wish I could wrap it all up and make it look pretty, but it isn't. I wish I could tell all you ladies who've had babies close together "so it's almost like having had a set of twins!" to shut the frick up. Why? Because it isn't. Cut, paste, go to print.

I suppose I was blindsided by this, to some degree. The physical demands of them as infants and little ones was so Everestish that I never could have anticipated the emotional, patience trying, frustration making, aggravation of this phase: three children entering in to pre-teen hood, together. There's no staggering in slowly, one by one, while the oldest starts to slowly phase out. There's no gradually paying for braces. There's no easing in to boys and girls liking boys and girls, and all of the emotional demands that those conversations entail. They're all in it together and I have to be real with you, America, I freaking hate it.

The past four weeks, my house has been filled with children struggling through overwhelming emotions, which causes screaming and yelling and me having a headache. They are learning that they have their own opinions about things, and that often times those opinions are very different from the other ones' opinions, and that doesn't feel "nice" (Why? Because triplets grow as a set of "three" even though they've been encouraged to have their own sense of selves. They want to belong to each other, be similar to each other and they have a unique heartache when they don't. This is not to say that singletons don't struggle with this idea of wanting to belong. My oldest is a singleton and that is reality, but I have to be clear here: it is no where near the same.). They are recognizing cliques and how it feels to be in the clique or excluded from it. They are having acne, and smells, and changes, that are all rushing upon them like an avalanche. I'm here in its path, America. I've got myself anchored into the mountain, because I've been on this sucker for a lot of years now, but the pounding of this wave is battering me. 

This is the hardest phase I've navigated yet.

As they grow and change, my mind replays over and over what was. It remembers their NICU days, it re plays their tiny bodies. My mind recalls the miracles, and the fears. My brain reminisces the snuggles and the closeness. My heart aches, because the reality of the world is coming in and it sucks.

I adore these people! They are such cool human beings. They're so thoughtful and kind. They're helpful and respectful. They are extremely intelligent, determined, driven. They are strong and resilient, but also fragile and sensitive. They're my nuggets, and every day I get to spend with them is beautiful (especially the annoying ones). 

I wasn't prepared, America. I didn't prep myself for this phase, because quite honestly, I didn't expect it to come so soon. I'm reeling a bit. And I'm also afraid for it to end. That last sentence was a bit bizarre, right? Why the heck is she afraid for this awful phase to end!? Because when it ends, they're grown up. That's the ugly truth of it. When it ends, they'll be gone, and the reality of that hurts.

Growing up is strangely painful, for the parents. I hate this phase.