Hi, you three.

We had our first beach outing today. I would be perfectly happy to never leave the comfortable spot we call home, but you — well, mainly you, Adrian — encourage and are a good reminder that going can be special. And it’s not always just the being wherever it is you’re going. It’s the preparation, the anticipation — it’s the being together for all the parts.

I had thought that my saying, “Beach day!” would propel some activity in the chore department, but the excitement seemed to be more overwhelming than I had imagined. We somehow made it through the basics before I packed a bag with a few PB&J sandwiches, apples, tortilla chips, water, a blanket and few towels, and off we set. Wow, you were excited. The ten minute drive was filled with conversation concerning what we could do at the beach, who we might see, collecting shells for a “collection” because “that would be pretty awesome, right, mom?” My sanguine oldest child, you make life fun.

We discovered that although the park was open, the beach was technically closed. And then I realized that the can of sunblock I had brought was broken and I couldn’t apply any onto your delicate baby skin, Josephine, so our first beach day was more a play-in-the-sand-and-cool-your-toes-now-and-then-and-only-for-an-hour-or-so, but that worked for us.

I love you, guys. I love being your mom. I love that you’re my world and I’m yours.

But sometimes — well, a lot of times — I’m a little unsure as your mom. We’re still very much in the days of “how do I get them to sleep so I can sleep” and wiping bottoms and helping tie shoes and learning to share toys and not touch mama’s houseplants and wiping hands and faces after every meal and everything that goes along with “the little years”, but we’re slowly entering a new phase as well. One that requires more conversation — asking questions and listening as feelings and explanations are given. Real weaknesses are being revealed and I’m also realizing that it’s my job to help you see victory in these areas, and then I sort of panic because how in the world and I’m not qualified and can’t we go back to the simple, “Don’t touch that,” days?

Today we talked. A baby sister asleep in her room and you two boys laying down for a rest after a morning of play in the sun and sand. I sat on the floor and we chatted. I repented for having become frustrated in the midst of giving correction. You two, so quick to this, forgave me. I knew I was supposed to say more about the issue that had surfaced earlier, but at a loss, all I said was, “You need Jesus in those moments… You need to ask Jesus to help you when you have that urge to disobey and do what daddy and I have said not to… You just need Jesus.”

I was a little kicking myself because I didn’t know what else to say, and shouldn’t I have a grand speech to give in those moments?

Or should I? I want to be able to give you counsel and talk through life and pray with you, but if that’s the main thing you hear from my lips — I won’t regret it.

Get Jesus, my sweet children. Get Him in the low moments, and get Him in those wonderful highs. Get Him when you’re so aware of your need that it’s sometimes overwhelming, and choose to get Him when things seem pretty okay and is there a need? (Answer: There is. There always is.)

And I’m praying that you not only hear this, but see it in me. Because I’m right there with you guys. I just need to get Jesus. Everyday, every hour. Over and over and over. I’m glad for you in my life — that your need to hear this requires me to say it. Because in those moments of uncertainty and panic and feeling a tad bit overwhelmed by this job, I hear myself saying, “Get Jesus, boys,” and I’m all, “Oh yeah, Louissa — get Jesus.”

So, thanks.

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