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#1 Our kids need to see us have fun.

I don’t know about you, but I can be a bit…task oriented. It’s not a bad thing and don’t get me wrong, I can be SUPER silly, but the reality is on any given day, I’m juggling a LOT. Life can be stressful and overwhelming at times, but truly even with great optimism and intention, I know my face doesn’t always reflect the joy I want my kids to remember me having. I used to shame myself for not exuding contagious joy with a bubbly personality, but more and more I’ve realized that seizing these opportunities on purpose is not any less authentic than a spontaneous burst of laughter.

Plus turning on some music and going to town can make the perfect exit from my own inner funk. How do I know? Because that’s how this dance party thing first started at my house. I did it for me and they joined in, not because I like to dance, but because in frantic overwhelm, I decided to do something ridiculous to get on the other side. We were laughing hysterically in minutes and I took note. I want my children to remember me “big smile happy” even if I need to throw in some extra dance parties to make it happen.

#2 Dancing provides powerful sensory input that’s incredible for our kids physical and neurological development and well-being.

We learned in preschool that we have 5 senses, but what if I told you that we have at least seven? In addition to the popular five (sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing), we also have proprioceptive and vestibular senses. We know that jumping can make legs strong and that cardio is good for our hearts, but this type of sensory input is also good for our kids’ brains. Activating those proprioceptive and vestibular senses can help our kids develop, organize, regulate and thrive neurologically. This can translate to better emotional regulation, attention and mood, which in my world helps everything. This is also why good play breaks with strong physical exertion translate to stronger mental focus afterward. I’m not an expert by any means, but as a mom of a child with sensory processing disorder, I’ve learned amazing things about the type of sensory input dancing can provide. You can nerd out on more sensory information and activity ideas here, here, here and here.

#3 Dancing is a great way to worship God.

When it comes to worshiping God, I’m not big on dancing. I’m more of a raise-my-hands-or-sit-in-complete-silence kind of girl (at least at the moment), but that doesn’t mean my children will connect with God in the same way. For some of us, we go to churches that are more traditional in nature and there is so much value to be had in that culture, but for our wiggly ones who just crave to move their bodies, a dance party to upbeat praise music may be just the thing to give them permission to connect with God in their own way. I had no idea how much my kids would love this until we did this at home. This is one of the reasons I’m loving Sacred Pathways for Kids: 9 Ways to Guide Your Child Into Relationship with Jesus.

Each one of our kids are unique and have different temperaments. No temperament is better than another, but this resource has given me simple language to see the opportunities before me every day to help my children connect with God outside the box of how I might expect. Some of my best discoveries about my kids, the way they are uniquely wired and what makes them come alive have happened on accident. Sacred Pathways for Kids has been one huge epiphany for me as I’m realizing that some of the good things our family has stumbled into, we can actually explore on purpose. That’s a win. Provide me with simple ideas so that I don’t have to come up with a bunch of stuff on my own? Double win!

If you click here you can take a free quiz to figure out your child’s spiritual temperament, what that means to their personal faith journey and how you can encourage them right where they are. Although all of us dance at our unofficial dance parties, my two daughters are enthusiasts who thrive in exuberant worship. As a mom who desires to pass down a living faith in Christ to my kids and grand-kids, I’ve found Sacred Pathways for Kids to be super insightful and practical. I know you will love it too.

8 Hacks for a Successful Dance Party

And if you’re new to family dance parties, don’t worry. I’ve got you covered. These dance party tips will make a huge difference, whether it’s your first or 50^th:

1. Don’t project expectations about how EPIC this dance party is going to be. Just do it and lead with flexibility and your version of enthusiasm.
2. Invite your kiddos to be involved in the process. My kids often enjoy picking songs, creating impromptu instruments, using scarves as streamers and even surprising me with a fresh outfit just for the occasion. That’s always fun. Either way, the key is NO PRESSURE.
3. Experiment with music styles. Upbeat music if often the easiest entry point, but some kids prefer slower or softer music like one might do ballet, interpretive or even couples dancing with. Your kids may not have specific song requests but will likely be able to give you feedback on the style of music, whether through their words or level of participation. Our family’s go-to worship collections with the kids are Hillsong Kids, Family Seeds Worship and Bethel Kids. If you look on YouTube, some of the songs even have movements you can follow, which can be super fun to try.
4. What about “secular” music? True story: my daughter requested the electric cha-cha slide as the last song of our dance party today. Obviously, we aren’t going to play music that’s tearing people down or with inappropriate lyrics but having fun to generic music can be an excellent way to communicate that our dance is really all about our hearts. Doing the electric slide with appreciation that God gave us a body to move and dance and have fun is like saying, “Thank you, God, for this amazing gift!”
5. What if no one knows what to do?! Ninja parent strategy: Try animal and nature moves! Take turns calling out fun movements like stomping elephant, swaying tree, clapping seal or friendly cat. Another idea is doing a dance where everyone holds hands in a circle alternately going clockwise, counterclockwise, in and out. Simple and so much fun!
6. CHEESE! You might want to double-think pulling out a camera. Depending on your kids, the presence of a camera may shut them down. I’ve found it best just to be present and participate with them. Sometimes they’ll actually request to be recorded, which we’ll happily do. Other times, we can tell they’re comfortable enough that we could get a clip or two. In that case, the kids almost always want to watch themselves later. If you’re concerned about them falling into a performance trap in worship, it’s okay to complement their moves or energy but also add something like “Wow, I love your freedom to worship. Just to think that there may be other people you get around and when they see your freedom in worship, they’ll feel brave to worship God in their own way too! And just to think God’s dancing like that over you too!” (see Zephaniah 3:17)
7. Be super flexible about how long they’re into it. They may tucker out and want to do something else after a song or two. That’s totally cool. It’s just as important to end well as it is to start well. OR you may have kids that want to dance for 30 minutes! Mama, you probably have things to do. Stay engaged as long as you can. For me, throwing in some lunges and push ups when its going long helps me to keep “you need to be productive” thoughts at bay. But alas, if duty calls, just give your kids a hug, communicate your exit, and let them know you’ll be looking forward to next time.   
8. Smile about your dance party in hindsight. This could look like a simple comment tailored to the personality of your child. For my 10-year-old daughter, I might say, “Hey, thanks for the dance party earlier. Doing fun things with you puts a smile on my face! And I love to hear you sing!” To my 7-year-old boy, I’d say, “Man, I knew you had good moves, but geeezzz, I could barely keep up with you! I had so much fun.” And to my 3-year-old girly-girl, I’d say, “I loved dancing with you today. You looked like a princess, which you are to both God and me and Daddy!” However that looks for your family, finding a way to savor the memory in hindsight can create a momentum around trying new things as a family and plant powerful seeds in your family culture going forward.

What do you think? I’d love to hear from you. Have you ever tried a dance party? What other fun things do you enjoy doing as a family?

Also here’s your link to grab your own copy of Sacred Pathways for Kids: 9 Ways to Guide Your Child into a Relationship with Jesus. Enjoy!

“It’s not fair.”

I gawk at the spectacle of pink blossoms, thousands of them matted in the grass.

Just a day ago, they welcomed me home from our vacation. Even the darkness of our country road couldn’t silence their pronouncement of spring’s arrival while we were away.

I gazed up at them, wondering if a picture could capture their magnificence in the dark. No way. A memory would have to do. I couldn’t help but smile at them as I carried bags into the house, secretly wondering how long the blooms would stay.

And now, here they are at my feet. Half of them are missing from the tree. In a couple of days, they’ll wilted and brown, longed for again until next spring.

Maybe if my soul didn’t feel bare like that tree, those scattered petals wouldn’t offend me so.

Frivolous.

Frivolous like that one day when I was 9 years old. Oklahoma winters didn’t provide much snow so the 5-minute ride home was almost too long. Early dismissal for snow! We had it all planned out. First snow angels, then snowmen. This would be EPIC. We could not wait to see that pristine blanket of white that we just knew waited in our yard.

And then we couldn’t believe our eyes. The boy from across the street had torn up our yard with his hasty boots. What snow we had lay disrupted in the aftermath of careless treading while the boy’s own yard sat perfectly untouched.

Injustice.

Again, I look at the tree and the petal confetti beneath it. I feel like Zuzu in It’s a Wonderful Life. “Look, Daddy! Paste it!”

The ground beneath my magnolia scene plays like the familiar tune of my day. Unlike real weather, these storms come without warning and are largely invisible to anyone outside my own heart and home. These kinds of storms can’t be quantified or compared, nonetheless they demand attention.  They howl in the wild cry of my child with special needs. Some moments can’t be touched by all the parenting “know-how” in the world. When the day feels like a field of land mines and feelings of powerlessness and desperation come knocking, God’s staying presence is the only anchor strong enough to hold.

Sometimes the tempest hollers in loneliness or the unexpected sting of pain triggered by people who don’t even know there’s a wound. God’s healing work within is good and hard, but the storm wastes no time rushing to the rawest places. It claws hard at hope, a surge hard to confront in profound tiredness. Maybe your storm has a different name, but no doubt you’ve also felt its blow.

El Roi. It means “the God who sees”. (Genesis 16)

He’s the One who found me on our playroom stairs today, the noise and tumbling of my 3 kids all around me. As pain throbbed in my chest, He sat with me. The pulsing of His heart joined my ache and invited these walls down. This is what He always does.

I can’t be strong enough.

I can’t muscle through.

And I don’t have to.

So, I gave up resistance to the tears eager at their gates. They fell quiet and heavy, their warm trails tickling my neck. In their release, my lungs gathered new air. In my letting go, something shifted. Light broke through my clouds.

The God who sees nudged me to look again. So I returned to my magnolia tree.

Maybe the magnolia’s not at a loss. Maybe she let go.

She stands as tall as before. Her roots have not left their place. The blossoms on her branches are now mirrored in a lavish display fit for a bride.

As I ponder my own heart’s course through storms and healing, I wonder what beauty waits on the other side of letting go. Not once, but over and over and over again.

The wind will leave.

The green will come.

My roots will keep pushing into the deep where I’m held from a place not easily shaken.

I can celebrate when all seems as it should be.

And when it isn’t, as Emily P. Freeman says in A Million Little Ways, “Let the day be the day without trying to run away from it.”

And maybe with new eyes, these fallen petals will become my dancing floor. I’ll go ahead and cue the music.

To the One who doesn’t waste a thing. To the One who is still here, still good and teaches me to see the beauty that only a storm can bring.

I’d love to hear from you. Feel free to comment below or email me at hello@hannahsavage.com. 

Dear Daughter,

Come and sit with Me, Dear One. It won’t take long. My heart is bursting with the words you need to hear. Motherhood is hard, but it’s a new day. You’re a great mom, but I know you don’t always feel that way. So listen: When you feel like you’re flailing in motherhood, I have you right here in the palm of my hand. Your failures, their behavior, and a million other tugs at your soul can’t pluck you out, you are Mine.

I see your furrowed brows as you try your best to hold onto My promises. At times, you feel like a rock climber dangling from a cliff. You think, “How did I get here? Maybe I’m in over my head.” Your hands are tired. Your body pulls heavy with the gravity that seems bent to see you dashed to pieces.

You try to shake off the negativity and remember the adventure you once envisioned on the holy grounds of motherhood. In your heart, you feel you were born for this, your life poured out into beautiful souls. But it’s hard to dance to the beat of that drum when your wits are frayed, they’re calling your name and the house is undone. But My Daughter, this is what I want you to know: I’ve got you. You can lay down your sword. Even the mightiest warriors need a safe place to let the tears fall. There’s no judgment here. You’re safe in My Love. I am the cup for your thirst and the bread for your famished soul. I am the Enough in your lack. Nothing in you can scare me away. So drink in My love. Have your fill of My goodness. With me is infinite kindness. With my company is renewed strength for your gloriously ordinary days. And never, never forget, when you’re washing dishes, when you’re playing taxi, when you’re having that hard conversation, I love you, I love you, I love you. I’m with you in the thick, Dear One. And I’ll be with you every step of the way.

Papa God

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It happened again! My son ran out of his room after cleaning it, yelling “That was FUN!” Now before you shoot me dirty looks or hit the home button, let me assure you this is NOT normal. At least it hasn’t been.

Normally, when it comes to cleaning up, my 6-year old has been quick to despair. He spends most of his time in the realm of imagination and his little body with sensory, auditory and self-regulation challenges doesn’t quite know what to do with being jerked into a reality he doesn’t want to or feel like he can face. I’ve tried nagging. (I wouldn’t have called it that at the time, but in hindsight, yep.) I’ve felt the tug of war between frustration and compassion even as I’ve quickly done most of his work for him when no one was looking.

When my husband and I started to take notice of the sneaky influence of entitlement in our family life, we found help in The Entitlement Fix, an e-course by Connected Families. As I listened to Jim and Lynne as they shared stories and modeled role plays, I had a lightbulb moment:

I don’t have to choose between connecting with my kids and holding them accountable. I can do both.

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My kids deal with entitlement. There, I said it. I think just about every one of us cringe when we get around someone who’s fully convinced the world owes them something. The last thing in the world we want as parents is for our children to become those people, unable to thrive in the real world as adults. Besides, we want our children to live for God and to practice the type of stewardship that honors Him. When entitlement raises its head, we try training it out. When that doesn’t work and we’re feeling a little desperate, we try shaming it out. Simple interactions escalate. Even when they comply, we feel a sense of dissatisfaction because we have a sense that their compliance sometimes hints of resentment. We see the look in their eyes and the meager fruit before us. This is not working.

Can you relate? Here are 3 steps we’ve taken to start the entitlement turnaround in our own home.

I can’t believe it’s been 5 years. This picture came up on my Facebook memories this morning. Do you get those?

This was a training event I did before my first (and only) triathlon in July of 2013. You see, I had woken up 9 months prior with a crazy idea that I should do a triathlon. Both haunted and exhilarated all day by the thought, I confessed my audacious dream to my husband that night, quickly met by my husband’s support and the truth that he believed in me more than I believed in myself. You see, I was a mom of a 4-year-old and 1-year-old at the time and was living in a state of overwhelm. It didn’t seem like good timing, but one baby step at a time, I started to prepare.

I decided to start with running, because it was the “easiest” and most low-cost skill to learn. I was not a runner. I had only run 1 mile once in my life and at the time couldn’t run .25 without stopping all together. So, week after week, I worked my couch to 5K program until I ran a mile straight. I still laugh when I think of the poor elderly people walking their fluffy dog by the stop sign that marked my mile marker. I sprinted like I was straining to finish a marathon and slapped that stop sign as I screamed at the top of my lungs. Victory! I didn’t care if I looked crazy. No one could know how hard I worked for that first mile.

My dear friend (now sister-in-love) took me under her wing, teaching me how to run more efficiently. We signed up for a 5K and trained toward that date. It was the next baby step that made sense in preparation for a summer triathlon. She graciously ran my pace as we finished the Pumpkin Run on a cold, rainy October day. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I was the lady pushing through the finish just as the ugly cry came gushing from deep down inside. In the physical strain, something inside of me was changing.

My next step toward a triathlon was to learn how to swim. Although I knew how to stay afloat and get across the pool, I had no idea how to swim in a straight line and breath at the same time. As I kid, I loved swimming underwater and pretending to be a mermaid. I may or may not have seen the movie Splash (with Daryl Hannah) way to may times and told a girl at a hotel pool that I was an actual real mermaid. She looked at me in disbelief inquiring as to why I had no tail in the pool. Wasn’t it obvious? My tail would not appear until I was in salt water. Duh. (Don’t worry. Since then I did repent for lying.) For a triathlon though, mermaid swimming would definitely not cut it. There was only one thing to do.

I started showing up at the gym when the old people came. 6 am. As a stay at home, there was no other way to get it done. I remember crying on the way to the gym at 5 am, jealous of all the sleeping people represented in the dark homes I was passing. Why was I doing this? I was already a tired mom. A voice deep inside told me it was worth it.

After weight lifting and cardio, I waited by the pool door waiting for the lock to click. If I wasn’t in at 6 a.m. on the dot, I wouldn’t have a swim lane. Day after day, I choked on water as I struggled to learn a proper breathing technique. I read swimming books, watched YouTube videos and took pointers from the “experts” at the pool. After 3 weeks of raising eyebrows and concern among lifeguards and my elderly counterparts, I made it across the pool for the first time with no choking or floundering. I felt unstoppable. Improving every week, I finally swam .25 mile without stopping. Now it was time to test my skills in open water at the very park I was scheduled to complete my first triathlon that summer. That was 5 years ago today.

Triathlons draw a surprising diversity of people. I was comforted to meet so many first timers at this training event that would prepare us for the real thing. My dad came along to support me, my husband holding down the fort at home.

I scanned the horizon, searching for landmarks that would keep me on track. I had read that one of the most important things to learn in open swim practice is how to use landmarks to swim straight as there would be no underwater lane like I had grown so accustomed to at the pool. I dipped my toe in the freezing water. Butterflies stirred in my stomach. As the sun made its full debut, they blew a horn and we were off into the dark, choppy water. Within yards, all the advice I had received to practice in open water made sense. Two days before, I swam confident in a calm, clear pool. Today I was crowded by swimmers in cold, cloudy water, utterly discombobulated. The breathing technique I had mastered so well in protected waters was futile as big waves interrupted my breath, challenging my rhythm as I coughed, regrouped and kept swimming.

I heard a yell over my shoulder. A fellow swimmer was panicking and crying for help. The two ladies near her shouted and panicked with her. I found myself swimming away from the finish and back to the fear-struck triathlete. Not wanting to get pulled under myself, I stopped short of her by a yard and called out, “It’s okay…deep breaths…you’re okay…you’re not alone…lean back. Relax. You’ve got this. You’re not alone. We’re with you. You’re going to finish.”

Her breathing slowed. Focus replaced the haze over her eyes as tears emerged on her wet face. After exchanging smiles and determined glances, the four of us clawed through the white-capped water in timeless silence, emerging on the sand with something more than we had entered the water with.

5 years later, I still feel that choppy water. I know you do too. It’s that space between what we’ve learned with our heads but is still being tested in our living. It’s the stretch between our Biblical ideals and vision as moms and the blunt realities of every day as we strive to live those out.

I could point back to those days with despair. When I look in the mirror each day, I don’t recognize the go-getter me that I romanticize from my past. I struggle with basic responsibilities. The critic in my head has lots of ammunition. But grace calls out. The truth is that you and I are in a season we’ve never been in before. It’s easy to admire the hindsight view of days gone by while Jesus invites us to sit with Him in our present.

I think if we listen closely, there’s a voice in our choppy waters. “It’s okay…deep breaths…you’re not alone…lean back. I’m in the water with you and we’re going to finish together.”

I believe there’s power in naming things. Sometimes questions are the best place to start.

What are my choppy waters? Don’t shame yourself for naming something you judge to be a small thing. Is it tiredness? A child who hasn’t learned to read? A financial concern or failure that whispers in your ear? Or maybe it’s a big thing that you’re scared to name, because it’s scary to hope.

Who’s with me in the water? We know God is, but maybe He’s inviting us to know it deeper down than we’ve ever known it before. He’ll never leave us. He’s not giving up on us. His determined love can give us courage to not give up on ourselves. But who else is there? Who has God surrounded you with? Maybe it’s time to reach out for a listening ear, a prayer or a laugh over coffee. We don’t have to face the choppy waters alone.

What’s God speaking to my heart? Be still? Lean back? It’s rarely the booming voice that calls us into our truest, bravest us. It’s often the gentle nudging and the friendly leading. Not from far off on the distant shore, but right there in the water with us.

Whatever our choppy may be, let’s look to the horizon. We will emerge, sister. We will walk out of this season with goodness we didn’t know going in. Then we’ll gather our stories and turn them into buoys for someone else.

My greatest buoy in every season of life is the Word of God. Praying Scripture has been such a powerful way for me to anchor my heart in truth while posturing myself to receive from God even as I go about my busy day. I’ve created a free resource for you. Here’s the link if you’d like to learn more or get it in your inbox today.

I’d love to hear from you. Feel free to leave a comment below or email me at hello@hannahsavage.com. You can also find me on Instagram where I share my real life. I’d love to connect.

The scent of candle wicks and sweat hung in the air as her newborn cry ushered out my last strained moan. Hot tears tumbled from my eyes, dripping down my neck, and onto the baby before mingling into the water around us. They were tears of gratitude, but if I’m honest, equally tears of relief. I conjured all the techniques I’d ever learned to survive the sensation of her head tearing through my birth canal. Finally, all the anguish was forgotten as I cradled 8 pounds of pure sweetness in the warmth of the morning glow now reaching through the heavy curtains.

The next three days seemed a blur of precious memories, nursing, afterpains and little sleep. My clumsy steps on the cold, creaking floor interrupted the midnight stillness of our small condo as I waddled yet again to the bathroom. My body ached, my back throbbed and I felt the kind of pressure I had felt days before as the baby got into position for birth. Except now, the baby was out. I pushed my concern aside, reasoning that surely this was all par for the course after a precipitous labor.

Concern turned into alarm when my bathroom trip revealed a small bulge amid all the passing postpartum blood. The next hour was a myriad of bathroom trips, prayers with my husband and calls to my midwife. Puzzled and concerned, my husband gently suggested I lay down on the bathroom floor. My eyes pleaded with him for another idea, but desperate for an answer, I sprawled on the floor at the mercy of my husband’s eyes. I have never felt more humiliated and tenderly loved at the same time in all my life. I felt like a bloody bundle of sagging skin and engorged breasts, only a shadow of the woman I knew as a ripe and glowing expectant mother.

Thanks for reading. The remainder of this article is available here on The Kindred Mom.