And we made it.

I'm only about twelve weeks into this parenting thing, and it's already tempting to start feeling like a failure.

Sometimes I look at the piles of laundry sitting in our bedroom and think about how they never existed just two months ago.  Before baby, I could get all of our laundry washed, folded, and put away in a day.  Now it takes me that same amount of time to take care of one load.  Never mind that I haven't made dinner in weeks (I'm not counting Stouffer's lasagna).  I blame it on the fact that the little one doesn't take naps for more than 20-30 minutes at a time.  (Did I mention that I also failed at BabyWise?)

I look at the other babies being dropped off at daycare and admire the tiny Ralph Lauren logos printed on their onesies.  I think about how we can't afford designer clothes, and I try to forgive myself for letting her run out of diapers last week.  

Every now and then, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and wonder when I started wearing messy buns every other day instead of fixing my hair.  Then I feel sorry for my husband, who didn't think he was marrying a slob four years ago.

Right now, she's just a baby, but soon the time will come when Piper is off to her first day of kindergarten.  And I won't be the mom who makes her a cute themed breakfast or cuts her sandwiches into dinosaurs.  There will be moments when I wish I was.  But for one, my "heart-shaped" pancakes look like aliens.  For two, I'm struggling to get both of us out the door on time now, and all I have to do is buckle an infant in a car seat.

I'm not SuperMom like I had hoped.  The house isn't as clean as a whistle every minute anymore, I'm a hot mess 90 percent of the time, and we can't give our baby the absolute best of everything that the world has to offer.  On the days when I'm feeling defeated, I remember how I grew up.  I am reminded of the way that my parents raised my brother and me, and I know that everything will turn out fine.

I wore hand-me-downs through at least elementary school, maybe longer...

...and I made it.

Sometimes we ate amazing home-cooked meals, but sometimes when we asked Mom, "What's for dinner?", she would tell us to go look in the refrigerator...

...and we made it.

We didn't eat gluten-free, sugar-free, or any other kind of "free" that otherwise restricted our diets (although eating for free was always good)...

...and we made it.

Occasionally, Mom was running behind (probably because she was doing something for us), so I would be late to gymnastics practice.  I would have to do extra push-ups and crunches...

...but I made it.

There were times when a friend of mine would come over while the laundry was still sitting on the couch in piles.  My friend and I would joke about "whitie-tighties" and "granny panties" and then we would move on with our lives...

...so obviously we made it.

I drove a mini-van in high school and didn't get a cell phone until I was sixteen.  100 percent not cool all the way around...

...but I made it.  

We lived in a one-story house for our whole lives, and my brother and I always shared a bathroom.  I hated that he left water spots on the mirror, and he hated that my hair got stuck in the shower drain...

...but we made it.  

My parents couldn't afford to send us to the most expensive private schools where we would get the very best education.  Regardless, my brother was a National Merit Scholar...

...so you can see that he made it.

The thing is, I'm probably going to keep feeling like a failure, but only as often as I let myself.  My mom and dad weren't perfect, but they did a darn good job.  So, at the end of the day, there will always be parents who are doing all of this better than me, parents who can provide more for their children.  I can't do it all and I can't be everything I want to be.  But I know the One who can.  And I know that because her life is in His hands...

...she is going to make it.

Acceptance.

A couple of weeks ago, I returned from my fifth trip to Trujillo, Peru.  Every time is a little different, yet a lot the same.  Every time I hope to come home changed, and every time my hopes are confirmed.

Sometimes I learn simple lessons in Peru.  Don't eat the lettuce or drink the water unless you want to spend your trip in the bathroom.  Speaking of the bathroom, always throw your toilet paper in the trash.  (Gross, I know.)  Never pay full price for anything in the market, and definitely never hop in a car with a random taxi cab driver.

Sometimes the things I learn are deeper.  After a week of hard manual labor, I come to appreciate modern machinery...and construction workers.  I am also reminded that it is okay, and often good, to disconnect from technology (on these trips, I don't really have another choice).  As I view the extensive poverty and corruption, I consider how blessed I am to have so much.

Humility.  Selflessness.  Acceptance.  Joy.  Kindness.  Strength.  These are the greatest lessons, the best reminders.  In trips past (and on this one, too), I have truly come to understand the meaning of these words through the people who live in Peru.  This time, I learned their meaning through my people.

On my four previous trips, I have traveled with excellent teammates, but all of them have looked very much like me.  2008 and 2010: All college students.  2011: My husband.  2012: All 20-Somethings, some married but none with kids.

This was the 2013 team, age range of 58 years, in all stages of life:

-My brother, Tim: 23, single

-Ben: 30, single

-Jack: 55, divorced

-Ted: 75, married but traveling without wife

-Chase (grandson of Ted): 17, high school senior

-Sam: 25, married (to Sarah)

-Akeilah (daughter of Jack): 25, single

-Whitney (daughter of Jack): 28, single

-Aimee: 22, recent college grad

-Sarah (wife of Sam): 25 (and obviously married)

-Me, Mary Rachel: 25, married with baby but traveling alone

Seems like a recipe for conflict and disagreement.  It was actually the blueprint for something beautiful.

I saw strength as I watched Ted push wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of dirt into the street without a complaint (and consequently learned humility as my own stamina paled in comparison to a man 50 years my senior).  I understood selflessness as our flights to Trujillo got split up and people willingly offered to spend the night in the airport, skip dinner, or take the last flight.  I experienced kindness when Ben lugged around my camera all week and consistently made sure I was surviving without my six-week-old baby.  I heard joy in the voice of my roommate, Aimee, as she tried to sing along to the words of a Spanish hymn in church and then laughed at her own futile attempt.    

Mostly, though, I returned from the trip with a whole new definition of acceptance.

As we all sat around the fire on our last night in Trujillo and shared highlights from the week, Akeilah recounted her experience.  And I cried.

"You know," she began, "Dad has been part of City Pres for awhile now.  I came to church with him when he became a member, but I haven't been involved in a church community in quite some time.  Being with all of you this week made me realize how much I want that again.  You are all amazing.  In many places where I go, I feel judged, and I don't feel that at all here.  You actually love each other and you've made me feel welcome."

This isn't a tribute to me and my awesomeness (I'm not awesome).  It's really just thankfulness for my church, which I don't talk about nearly enough.  You see, a year and a half ago, I was Akeilah.  Because while many churches proclaim that "everyone is welcome" and that you should "come as you are," what they often mean is that "everyone is welcome to become our project" and that you should "come as you are but don't come back if you have any major issues."  In the past, I've felt trapped into being someone I'm not.  What I have experienced at City Pres is something different entirely, something rare.  I feel free.

I've realized that church doesn't have to be what I always thought it was.  In this place, community is real and not forced.  I hang out with church friends because I want to, not because it is an obligation.  I'm being honest with people, with myself, and with God for the first time ever.  I've been angry and I've said things I shouldn't have.  And I've been loved anyway.

The diversity of our team to Peru and the unity that we experienced throughout the week reminded me of just how accepted and encouraged I've been over the past eighteen months- in spite of my crazy self.  Sometimes it takes a trip across the world to make you realize what has been right in front of your face all along.

I can't convince you to come to my church, or even to come to church at all.  But I'm suggesting that maybe you try.  Perhaps church doesn't have to be what you always thought it was either.  

Our team, minus Jack