12.15 sermon: Almost Love

"You Look Familiar..."

"You look familiar," she said. Her head tilted to the side, squinting at us a bit trying to be sure.

We were familiar to her.

She's the nurse who has performed our son's food allergy skin tests 3 of the 4 times he's undergone them since June 6, 2018.

His fourth and most recent test was just a few days ago.

And I've never seen him look so old, so brave, so resigned to the fact that this is his own personal version of "just one of those things."

We were shocked to discover that the skin tests showed a decrease by 1/2 in his peanut allergy as well as a decrease by 2/3 in his dairy allergy since he was last tested in June of this year.

I'm still a bit shocked, really. A bit skeptical. All the while grateful for what we hope will be a new chapter in our family's life--one where we don't have to be quite so fearful when sharing a meal with friends and family that an anaphylactic reaction is just around the corner for our two year old.

They needed to draw blood to see if it showed the same decrease in the allergies as his skin. [If the labs match his skin test results, we will move on to a "baked milk challenge" where we feed him a muffin (or something that contains milk in the ingredients) in the allergist's office...and wait. If he doesn't react, we'll know he is able to tolerate baked milk in foods. If he does react, we stick him with an epipen, go for treatment at the hospital, wait until June of 2020 to see what the skin test results show and go from there.]

It had already been a long morning. Even for the most patient and resilient toddlers like my son proved to be yesterday, it was a lot.

When they came in to draw his blood, they laid him down on the table and I stood over him with my face right next to his--whispering reassurances that everything would be okay and that we'd get to go home soon.

I was an idiot and left my hair down for this part of our morning, so it kept falling in his face and in mine. 

But all of the sudden, the nurse who said we looked familiar reached up from where she was holding his little legs down at the end of the table and pulled my hair away from my face so that there would be nothing between me and my son, so that he could plainly see the bravest face I could display for him, so that he could know everything would (eventually) be okay. I looked at her to offer an appreciative smile and noticed she was reflecting that same expression back to me.

This nurse has a son who is a week younger than ours. We've talked about it before and she mentioned it again during our appointment, right before her familiar comment.

I think she sees her son in ours.

I think she sees herself and her partner (if she has one) in me and mine.

Yes, we looked familiar to her because she has physically seen and helped us in previous appointments, but I also think she recognized similarities between her family and ours.

This intimate moment we shared was not one comprised of "us v. them" thinking.

There was only us. There was only the familiar.

And because of that, she was able to offer an empathetic gesture that nearly buckled my knees and brought me to tears once our son was sound asleep in his bed that night. It meant more to me than she will ever know.

She saw us. She joined us in what she could probably feel was an exhausting and anxious time.

Not in pity. Not in a savior complex kind of way.

But in a "You're not alone," kind of way. In a "You look familiar," kind of way.

More than recognizing the familiar in family structures, relationship structures, circumstantial structures...

As people of faith we're called to to recognize the familiar in our intrinsic structures.

In other words, the more we recognize the familiar Image of God residing in all persons (whether or not we have one single solitary thing in common with them), the more we enter into and usher others into the Kin*dom of God. It is there that we are all familiar--to the One who gives us life, grace, and love abundant. 

May we be avid seekers of the familiar in one another.


Peace,
PMK 

They Feel It, Too

Recently, our family had the privilege to escape our "normal" in exchange for a few days in Orange Beach--courtesy of (beyond) generous parishioners I do not deserve to pastor.

It's been a draining past several months for our family--between the busyness of summer complete with a week-long mission trip for my youth and a week-long VBS shortly thereafter, a church break-in (everything is fine), multiple deaths in one of my church families and several severely sick folks in the other, I had nearly become a zombie of the "passing for alive" variety.

Toward the beginning of my pastoral appointment in this Charge just over three years ago, the previously mentioned generous parishioners told us if we could ever get away to let them know because they had a place we could stay.

If you know me at all, you know I would never indulge such an invitation.

You also know (if you know me at all) that I almost never admit I need help or a break and certainly never both at the same time.

Come early August, though, I was at my breaking point. I was going to have to do all three of the things that I would usually "never" do. 

It looked like--just as I figured by asking so late in the summer--that there was no availability on the weeks we would be able to swing it.

And then we got a call that someone canceled, and I took what felt like my first breath in a long time. 
Our son was arguably more excited for our getaway than me and my husband combined. He had been yelling "GO TO DA BEACH!" more and more incessantly as the days leading up to our trip became fewer and fewer. By the time we reached the afternoon of our departure, it was almost like he was a scratched record--repeating that phrase over and over and over again.

I would drive through the night all over again even just for that first day on the beach. From the moment we reached our desired location to set up toys and chairs, he was non-stop. Our son was unafraid of the ocean and unbothered by the sand. He searched for sea shells and chased the poor seagulls and sand pipers back and forth along the shoreline for several minutes at a time without ever slowing down. 

He did eventually decide he needed a rest. And an applesauce pouch. So, he plopped down onto one of our low-sitting chairs right at the water's edge--eyes closed, taking deep breaths of the salt water air that enveloped us while the waves crashed at his feet.

It was in that moment I realized: He felt it, too.

The zombie-ness.

The tiredness. The numbness. The anxiety. The grief.

He felt all of it right along with me even though I'd done everything within my power not to ever once expose him to the things I was feeling.

Poor kid is an empath like his mum. Not to mention, he's wayyy more intuitive than I'd care for him to be.

Nothing gets past him.

No matter how hard I tried to hide it, he was going to know something was up because he senses when the order of things is out of whack. He was going to be affected by my depleted-at-some-points, elevated-at-others emotions because his heart is just that big.

He needed the break, the get-away, the escape, the breather...just as much if not more than we did.

Watching him relax and re-center that day is an image I hope to always be able to access in my mind's eye. It's taught me countless lessons as I've reflected on our time together in the two weeks since we've been home, and I'm confident it will continue to teach me--just as he does.

Feel your feelings, friends. It's healthy.
Just know that your kids--they feel it, too.

Sermon Audio: Jesus, My Mother, and the Shepherding Love of God

Sermon Audio: Easter 2019

Art by He Qi

Sermon Audio: Lent 5 — The Call to Alter Our Perspective

Text: John 12:1-8

The one where Mary anoints Jesus' feet with crazy expensive perfume and proceeds to wipe them with her hair...and all the men lose their collective minds.

My Grammy was magic. Being with her nurtured me into comprehending the importance of changing my perspective to see the goodness in people and the world. I would argue that this story about Mary calls us to do the same.

Thanks for listening, friends.

Deep Peace,
MK

Learning to be "not okay"

[Edited to note: I'm "not okay" this week. I've wanted to write this for a long time, but as I will mention, it's not always easy to admit you're not okay.]

"We watched the same movies and shows with you over and over and over and..." was basically my parents' rebuttal to my comment months ago about our son repetitively watching the Hotel Transylvania trilogy.

I get it. I relentlessly forced them to watch Barney the Dinosaur and the clay-mation version of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I'd be less than sympathetic, too. 😉

Once I got over the hurdle of accepting that Drac, Mavis, and all of their friends were now just part of our family dynamic, I began paying closer attention to the plots, family systems dynamics, and emotional duress the characters faced (as a former seminarian and current pastor is want to do).

Upon the fourth or fifth viewing of Hotel Transylvania 3, I noticed a scene that was eerily similar to my own emotional well-being at the time.

Drac has just "zinged" (a monster's version of experiencing "love at first sight") with the captain of the cruise ship that he and his family have boarded for vacation (She's a human, so even without knowing the premise of the movie, you can imagine why this could be problematic). His friends see that he's buckling under the weight of being in her presence and quickly drag him away where they try to bring him back to reality from his love-induced, gibberish-speaking daze.

After some tough love from one friend, Frankenstein tries a different approach. With empathy and care, he steps closer to Dracula, lays a hand on his shoulder and asks, "You okay, buddy?"

Drac, head hung low with a frown on his face, says, "No, not okay. Not okay."

There is something about Drac's body language--his stooped-over stance, the deeply troubled and saddened expression--along with his tone of voice that has literally given me pause every time I've watched this movie with our son since.

The look on his face, the sound of his voice, his essence of being...this is how I have felt off and on since giving birth in August of 2017.

I noticed pretty early on after returning home from the hospital, baby in arm, that something about me was not the same as it had been when we went for my induction three days prior.

"Oh, it's just hormones!"

"You're just getting used to your 'new normal'!"

"You're just exhausted. It'll get better!"

Any time I began to try to voice the lack of sameness and symmetry and sanity that I felt, I was met with well-meaning and intended-as-encouragement opposition.

It wasn't until I found myself in the floor of my parents' downstairs bathroom about a month or so after he was born that I began to think I might need to voice those concerns to someone with a degree in medicine. I remember that he was especially fussy that night and struggling to go to sleep. The conversation about what should be done to help him just seemed to go in circles. I can barely remember being able to comprehend the words everyone was saying, let alone process those words in order to come up with a game plan to comfort the struggling babe. I did not speak up because I had no idea what was wrong with him and was exhausted and felt like there was no air left for me to breathe in the space where the discussion was being held. So, I scurried downstairs, fell to the floor, leaned against the tub as if I was trying to keep it from falling out of its structure, tried to focus on my breathing through sobs, and seriously questioned whether or not Foster might be better off in the hands of people who seemed to know so much more about him than I did.

They had all of these ideas about how to help my kid. And I didn't have the first inkling. I couldn't even put their ideas in motion.

How could this be?

"How could I possibly be this bad of a mom already?" I remember thinking to myself.

I didn't think in great detail about harming myself that night, but I did seriously question--just for a moment--if he wouldn't be better off if I just disappeared.

The next week I scheduled an appointment with my OB's office, talked with one of the NP's and got put on one of the lowest doses of generic Zoloft possible. She told me what I was thinking, feeling, and experiencing was not uncommon in postpartum while also assuring me that those things need not be my "new normal."

The anti-depressant has significantly helped with my postpartum anxiety and depression, but there are still days (or even a few days strung together now and again) where I struggle.

A couple of months ago, I'd reached another head in my mental and emotional health and finally decided to try therapy. After three sessions, I realized that--more than anything--I was in need of a safe space to release all of the things that I was carrying on a daily basis that were simultaneously furthering my anxiety and feeding my depression.

Between the stress of being the parent to a kid who is severely allergic to two "Top 8 Allergens" (and having witnessed him suffer through more than one anaphylactic reaction to those allergens), being a pastor, being a pastor's spouse, completing the ordination process, trying to be a decent human being in there somewhere, and trying to figure out how to love myself fully when I am so critical of myself in almost every aspect of my life...it was a lot for me, personally, to process and navigate well without some help.

I'm in a much healthier head and heart space than when I set foot in my therapist's office almost two months ago. Having received incredibly helpful practices from her to work on in my daily life, I'm taking a break from therapy for now but have received the invitation to call and set up an appointment if ever I again find myself in a similar place. For this, I am thankful.

I am slowly but surely learning how to better be honest with myself and others when, like Count Dracula, I am "...not okay. Not okay." It is an ongoing learning curve that I am trying to be more open and vulnerable and vocal about.

When I don't feel well--when I am down and struggling to get back up, when my anxiety is peaked--I actually hear the tone of his voice as he says he's not okay; I see his posture and his defeated expression. What he looks and sounds like on the outside has become the imagery for what I feel like on the inside when depression or anxiety rear their ugly heads. And I'm learning to be okay with that.

I am at a place now--between medicine and therapy and supportive family and friends--where I can consistently find my way up and out of the shadows of depression as well as down from the heights of anxiety.

I have nothing else to attribute to this sense of "place" but God's abundant grace--actively moving in and through people in my life...actively moving in and throughout all of creation. I have nothing but the love of God to attribute to feeling like it is okay to voice this small part of my story because God's love tells me that no matter how down and out I am, there is nowhere too "down" or too "out" that God will not be with me there, loving me back to fullness of life as God intends for me (and for all of us) to experience.

I am learning that it's okay to be "not okay."

I hope you will join me in this learning, too. You are not alone.

Deep Peace,
MK

Sermon Audio: Lent 3-Will We Repent in Fear or Love?

Text: Luke 13:1-9

It's clear: Our hearts and minds need to change as a continuous spiritual practice during our journeys of faith (particularly relevant during Lent!). 

The question is: "What is the driving force behind our want to change (or repent)--is it fear or is it love?"

Thanks for listening.

Deep Peace,

MK

[image borrowed from: http://preachrblog.blogspot.com/2016/03/sermon-lent-3-luke-131-9.html]

Sermon Audio: Lent 2 - Luke 13:31-35

Text: Luke 13:31-35

The one where Jesus laments the waywardness of Jerusalem. Through, of all things, a hen and her chicks, Jesus conveys to us the identity of God as Parent, our Parent God.

Thanks for listening.

Deep Peace,
MK

[image borrowed from https://iffleychurch.org.uk] 

Sermon Audio: Lent 1-Jesus is Tempted in the Wilderness

Text: Luke 4:1-13

Jesus has just been baptized. He is "full of the Holy Spirit." Yet, evil in the form of temptation still finds its way to him as he prepares his heart and mind for what he has been created, called, and commissioned to do in his ministry. 

How will we resist evil and reorient our hearts to God this Lenten season? Will we look inward, repent, and lean into God's grace as we journey toward Easter?

"...if we go the route of looking inward, recognizing our places of brokenness, and acknowledging that we are still and forever in need of God’s grace where sin has taken over in our lives, this season could be one of dramatic change for us."

Thanks for listening.

Deep Peace,
MK

[image borrowed from Sojourners]

To the Man Who Thought I Wouldn't Make It As a Pastor

To the man who thought I wouldn't make it as a pastor:

The only reason you and I were ever in contact with one another was because the polity of our church communicated to me that in order to progress toward answering the call God placed on my life is if I first talked with you about that call, to "get the ball rolling," so to speak.

I know that you invited my male peers to your office to listen to their convicted hearts that serving God and loving God's people was what they were designed to do, yet I was instructed to meet you at your local Waffle House. You ate your bacon and eggs without looking up from your plate as I did my best to authentically and passionately convey to you the work God was doing in my life and the ways God's Spirit was wooing my own toward a life committed to full time ministry.

The few times you did look up, there was no emotion or encouragement or affirmation that I could see in your gaze. It was almost as if you had even forgotten I was there--as though perhaps the clangs and bangs and sizzles of the kitchen had lulled you into believing you were somewhere else you'd rather be.

Where I had entered into this meeting--albeit in a strange setting--hopeful that this would be a positive encounter, I left feeling doubtful, deflated, and even embarrassed. "Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about," I thought to myself as I drove the thirty minutes back to my hometown. If the first step of many toward fulfilling the necessary requirements to follow my call to ministry was this lackluster, this apathetic, this indifferent...what could the others possibly hold in store for me?

Luckily, by the time I got home, the Spirit was no longer wooing mine, but had set fire to it instead. So, when you failed to call and then failed to return my calls in the following weeks, I was empowered by God's Spirit to take matters into my own hands. I am thankful for the pastor of my childhood church home at the time who listened to me and believed in me and got you to come and do what needed to be done for me to officially start the candidacy process.

Afterward, I proceeded to promptly move my membership to another church in a different district that had also helped raise me in the faith. Because I knew I would be taken care of and propelled onward by the "powers that be" in that context.

And so I was. 

Despite the ways that you were so obviously unmoved by my call to ministry, that did not for one breath slow the movement of God's Spirit in my life and my journey toward my vocation.

Yesterday my husband and I were approved by the Board of Ordained Ministry in the Tennessee Conference for ordination as elders in full connection in the United Methodist Church.

I feel very confident you will not read this blog post, and on the off-chance that you do, let me be clear in saying that I harbor no ill will toward you though you broke my heart all those years ago. All is forgiven on my end.

Though you likely will not read it, perhaps another young woman questioning her call to ministry will. Perhaps, she has faced opposition and backlash and disapproval for seeking to faithfully exist in the world as God has created, called, and commissioned her. 

If you are her, hear me when I say: 

Do. Not. Stop. Find the people who have your back and cling to them. Find the people who affirm your gifts and hold fast to them. Find the people who are just as resilient and who believe just as much in your calling as you do (if not more) and never let them go.

Believe that the God who breathed you into being and who still moves and works and speaks into the cosmos (and into your life!) will give you what you need to persevere, to succeed in your desire to be faithful and obedient, and to live out your vocation full of energy and passion that could only be fueled by our Parent God.

So, go girl. Do not stop until you have reached the place where God's Spirit has been wooing you all along and setting your spirit on fire to get there all the while. Know that you are loved and that you have what it takes. Know that you are made for this. Know that God will give you what you need for this. And know that I am always here if you need someone in your corner to remind you in the times that you forget.

To all the men who have affirmed my ministry throughout the years, I give God thanks and praise for each and every one of you. I will attempt to list as many of you as I can think of now. Blessings to you and thank you so, so much for believing in me and even more for interacting with me in such a way that let me know I did not need your seal of approval to be who God was calling me to be. Love to all of you. :

Daddy
Dad (Johnny Myers)
Rev. Bo Myers
Rev. Dick Scott-Welch
Rev. Ed Simmons
Rev. John Wesley Vaughn
Rev. Chris Haynes
Rev. Thad Austin
Rev. Mark Youngman
Rev. David Johnson
Rev. Abe Zimmerman
Rev. Bryan Brooks
Rev. Tommy Ward
Rev. Michael Williams
Rev. Ken Edwards
Rev. Mark Rupp
Rev. Joon Sik Park
Rev. Benjamin Hall
Rev. Brady Whitehead

Sermon Audio: But Above All, Let Us Not Pray to be Right

Text: Luke 6:27-38...that whole bit about loving our enemies and not judging or condemning others as being central to the work of Jesus Christ's disciples


What will the United Methodist Church look like later today? No one knows.


What I do know is that the grace and love of God will prevail.

And it will prevail all the more quickly if we petition God that God's will be done, not that we would be right.


Thanks for listening.

Deep Peace,
MK

Sermon Audio: The Sermon on the Plain

Luke 6:17-26 (like Matthew's Sermon on the Mount, but different)

This is not my favorite sermon I've ever preached.
It's clunky in some places and I misspoke in others.
However, I think part of the awkwardness of it all was that I was preaching a sermon directly to the very heart of me (even more so than I usually do).

Therefore, I'm sharing it just in case God's grace is even so great as to overcome my stumbling and bumbling to reach the heart of someone else.

Thanks for listening.

Deep Peace,
MK

Sermon Audio: God’s Love is Greater than the Gap

Text: Luke 5:1-11 [the one where Jesus helps Peter, James, and John catch a staggering amount of fish...after they've spent all night trying and failing to catch a one. Peter is in awe of Jesus' miracle and feels unworthy even to be in Jesus' presence to which Jesus says, "Do not be afraid. I will make you fishers of people." And as the story goes, "They left everything and followed him."]

Excerpt from the sermon:"Rejection is not a word with which God associates. God sees us for all of who we are and yet still manages to say again and again and again without fail, 'Follow me. Come with me. Live with me.  Abide in ME. Receive my love for which you’ve done nothing and been nothing to deserve. Receive my grace-fueled love and then go live your new life bound and determined to share that same love with people who most need to be reminded that my love is for them, too.'”

Thanks for listening, friends.

Deep Peace,
MK

Jesus and Juicy Fruit

There is one thing about which every pastor can be certain on a Sunday morning:

...that absolutely nothing is certain about a Sunday morning. Ever.

Except, for Mr. Bill.

He is an unwavering figure in our congregation.

His gentle face makes one feel as though they might actually be looking into that of God.

Every Sunday--without fail in the nearly three years I've been his pastor--Mr. Bill sits next to Ms. Pat (his wife of 60+ years) and smiles politely before, during, and after the conclusion of worship at everyone he comes into contact with even though he can hear very little of what they say to him.

And every Sunday--without fail in the nearly three years I've been his pastor--Mr. Bill makes his way to the back of the sanctuary at the conclusion of worship, pulls a sandwich sized Ziploc bag from a drawer in the seasoned table where folks picked up their bulletins an hour earlier, and presents three different flavors of chewing gum to passersby.

He stands in the entryway until every last parishioner and visitor has been given the chance to take a piece of their favorite flavored gum--all the while sporting the most kind and welcoming smile as if to say without speaking any words, "I'm so glad to see you today."

The man has been known to wait fifteen minutes after everyone else has left just so I could get my piece of Juicy Fruit gum. [Oddly enough, I choose it week after week because it reminds me of my paternal grandfather as does Mr. Bill.] 

The couple of times he's had to leave before I could make my way to him, he left a piece of Juicy Fruit sitting on the table top, right next to the bulletins where I'd be sure to see it and know he hadn't forgotten me.

Though none of this may seem significant, Mr. Bill is a reminder for me of God's unwavering and transformative presence at work in the world--through big and small phenomena alike--and a reminder that though there are plenty of excuses not to partner with what God is up to, we should. 

Because that's exactly what we've been created, called, and commissioned to do.

Even when things are uncertain and chaotic--like they are for most pastors any given Sunday morning...

Because, undoubtedly, between the previous Sunday and the current one, one or more of the following has happened:

- Someone has fallen ill.

- Someone has entered a tumultuous season in their relationship with a loved one.

- Someone has passed away.

- Someone has learned that something they thought was a "for sure thing" really isn't.

- Someone has traveled to another county or state to tend to a severely sick family member.

- Someone has learned that they are no longer thought to be of any significance by someone they care about.

- Someone has received news that will change life as they know it.

- Someone has realized that they are no longer in control of all that which they had previously assumed.

And that's just the beginning of the potential vague and overly generalized scenarios.

We live in a time of upheaval--physical, emotional, mental, social, societal, and spiritual (to name a few).

When things are ceaselessly changing, sea-sickeningly somersaulting, frighteningly frolicking in a manner of to-and-fro of which we did no such thing as approve...

Why are church buildings where so many of us choose to run at a dead sprint when Sunday morning rolls around?

What do we hope to find there, in the same pew we've occupied for the past 30 years or so (and our parents the 50 or so before us)?

Do we hope to be surrounded by a group of like-minded people who will enable and justify our complacency about the state of affairs in our world as though it is no concern of the Church?

Or, do we hope instead, to be enveloped by a group of people who will communicate to us both that the transformative presence of God is at work in our midst and that there is still work yet to be done by the Church in this changing, somersaulting, frolicking world we inhabit?

At her worst, the Church is stagnant--unmoved by people matters deemed unworthy of her concern--and thus, stymies and holds hostage the minds and the hearts and the bodies of believers who were made to partner with God's transformative presence at work in the world.

At her best, the Church is vibrant--moved within the entirety of her being by these same people matters--and thus, empowers and enables the flourishing of the minds and the hearts and the bodies of believers who were made to partner with God's transformative presence at work in the world...until the world is better for every one of God's people.

Sure, church is a place we go.

But more importantly, Church is who we are.

And who we are should change the world...until the world is better for every one of God's people.

Are we a Mr. Bill in our various communities and contexts?

In other words, are we letting people know that we see them, that they are known and loved and thus, communicating to them that they are even more intimately seen, known, and loved by the Almighty God?

These are the questions I'm pondering about the Church Universal, local churches, and myself as a Christian this afternoon. I appreciate you taking the time to read my ramblings.

Deep Peace,

MK

Sermon Audio: God our Refuge--Even in the "Golden Years"

Psalm 71:1-6

A psalmist petitions God for rescue and protection from enemies even in his old age while citing times that God was a steady and active presence during his youth. Surely, God is still just as fervently listening to and acting on our behalf in our "golden years" of life when we often feel the most alone and unsure of the future? The boldness with which this psalmist prays seems to suggest that as truth for the taking.

Thanks for listening.

Deep Peace,
MK

Sermon Audio: Many members. One Body.

Sermon Audio: The Live-or-Die Nature of Unity within the Body of Christ

1 Corinthians 12:12-31a

The question becomes—no, not becomes…the question IS…this very moment it IS—which will we further with this one precious life we have to live?

unrest, hatred, and division? 
orPeace, Love, and Unity?

There is no gray area here. The choice is up to us.

Hey, you—take the picture.

[Edited to note: While I feel confident that the folks seeing this post are primarily family and friends, the internet can be a scary place. Thus, the big purple dot over my kid's face in the picture below.]

I stumbled through the door that connects our garage to our laundry room after what felt like a day that would never end.

You’ve been there.

Tons on your TDL to accomplish in only 10ish hours' time, a meeting or two, and the emotionally vested conversations that leave you more tired than at peace about the topic of conversation.

Without slowing my stride, I tossed my pea-coat over the bouncer that is still taking up residence along one of our living room walls (many months after my son’s last bouncing session) and dropped my scarf on top of the small rocking chair that has been passed from child to child in my husband’s family for generations.

I could hear them just around the corner. I’d made it in time.

I found my son (and his dad) in his room--walking wobbly sporting a goofy grin and heavy eyes--winding down from what I can only imagine was the typical fun-filled guys’ night that occurs whenever I have to work late.

It was the time in our nightly routine where we read a book (or three) and while my husband is normally the reader and I am the rocker and calmer-downer, he said I should read and rock tonight. That our son had missed me. Gladly agreeing to his suggestion, I turned page after page while our son lifted and closed each flap in a Daniel Tiger cardboard book. 

In my peripheries, I could see my husband with his phone up in front of his face. 

While this might not seem that unusual for someone who’s just been relieved after a night of solo parenting, we don't use our phones during the nighttime routine. We want our son to know that all eyes are on him and that it is time to rest after what is usually a busy day for all of us in one way or another.

The book came to an end.

We read our prayer.

The big light went off. 

The night light came on.

I rocked the tiny wonder a little longer than usual.

Then I turned out the night light and left his room.

After we’d had a chance to catch up from the day over dinner, I asked my husband what he was doing while we were reading.

An Airdrop notification appeared on my phone alerting me I had the opportunity to accept six photos he wanted to share with me.

There we were.

My son and me.

Just us.

Candidly in these photos together.

Doing something ordinary.

Doing something we always do.

So, why did it mean so much to me that he’d taken them? 

Because I’m usually the one on the other side of the camera.

...said [almost] every mother ever.

Often moms so desperately want to capture every small and seemingly insignificant moment because we fear we’ll forget those very same moments as our children grow. And it sometimes feels as though no one is quite as dedicated to the same cause—particularly when it comes to making sure there are photos of us with our children.

It’s no one’s fault.

Maybe your spouse doesn’t take that many photos, period.

Maybe it just doesn’t occur to them that you’d want a picture of something as simple as reading a story together or feeding them a snack or rocking them to sleep.

Early on in motherhood, I decided I would not allow moments I wanted to capture of me and my son to pass. Which essentially equaled out to...

All. The. Selfies.

And while those are good and sweet at times (and I look back fondly on the ones we’ve taken), other times it can feel pretty silly or dumb when you try to no avail to capture a particular moment.

But not as silly and dumb—in my own experience—as asking your SO to take a picture of you with your kid.

I always think: 

He never asks for a picture to be taken.

He doesn’t obsess about it like I do.

So, I shouldn’t ask.

The selfies will do.

And the rest? Well, surely I’ll remember.

Except, I won’t.

I won’t remember how I felt the time that he was so feverish and no one else would do...when no one else could bring him peace but me.

I won’t remember that random Tuesday afternoon where I picked him up early from daycare just because it was a pretty day and I knew we’d have fun playing outside together.

I won’t remember the way he looked at me with delirious glee in his eyes and belly laughed so hard when I tickled him just before bath time.  

I won’t remember how he looked at me as though I might as well have been the only one besides him who was ever on the planet.

So, I beg of you (and I’m begging of me, too).

Tell them—your spouse, your partner, your co-parent, your whoever—to take the picture.

It might feel silly.

And strange.

And maybe even selfish.

But none of those are true.

You deserve to be in your child’s memories just as much as anyone else.

Your presence.

Your care.

Your time.

Your teaching.

Your comforting.

Your challenging.

Your love.

Just like the ones you so diligently try to capture of your children with others, your experiences with them are picture worthy, too, and need to be taken. So that when he or she is older—and you’re older—you’ll remember that your love for your child was and is a radiant and impactful and vital gift.

Mamas, don’t just be the one on the other side of the camera.

Tell them—for the sake of your children and your own sake as well—to take the picture. 

Every. Single. Time.

Thanks for reading, friends.

Deep Peace,

MK