I Wonder

Our second son is a brand new six-year-old. So much of this boy is still a mystery to me. At times his thought process seems advanced by three to four years and then other times he is clearly just a little boy. There are days when he minds so well and follows directions and walks the path he knows is right; and then there are other days when his fingers seem compelled to touch what they’re not supposed to or his emotions get the better of him when he is corrected or he just has to bug his little brothers.

Today, on his birthday, I just have to sit back and wonder.

I wonder what hidden puzzles his complex brain will solve.

I wonder what questions his deep mind will answer.

I wonder what his inquisitive fingers will assemble or fix.

I wonder what his hobbies will be, what adventures he will have, what places he will explore.

I wonder how he will further Christ’s kingdom and how many people he will tell about Jesus.

I wonder if he will be a leader of leaders and a servant of servants.

I wonder how tall he will actually be and how he will demonstrate his strength.

I wonder what his legacy will be.

And I wonder if there will always be a tender spot in his heart for his mama.

It will be wonderful to watch this boy flourish in his brand new year. It is such a beautiful responsibility to be his teacher, his guide and his mom. What a privilege to be an eyewitness to all of his firsts: his first smile and laugh, his first steps and words, his first time solving a math problem or reading a sentence, his first time riding a bike or climbing a tree, his first deep sorrow and his first great triumph. I want him to know that I’ll be his loudest cheerleader and his best encourager because he is precious to me.

I Have No Words

A year ago today I was in a comfortable labor with my eighth child. I truly did not want to share my birthday with anyone so my main concern that day was taking it easy and not accelerating labor. My plan worked and I was able to do all the birthday things before labor kicked into gear late in the night. It was a beautiful time for me: just me, Baby and Jesus preparing for the arrival of a brand new soul. Before the morning sun broke through our precious baby boy was in our arms.

Emmaus has been unique from the start. In utero he had a slower heartbeat and we came to learn that it was just a sign of his calm, good natured self. People gravitate to him and he is not slow to beam a smile at them; he, in turn, looks for a smile in every face and seems confused when it’s not there. From his newborn moments he has made intense eye contact and was our youngest to smile, coo and laugh- even astounding doctors and nurses with his social maturity. It is almost as if his name is prophetic: drawing people to him so he can introduce them to Jesus.

And now we have a bubbly boy who is still a baby in most ways. He has rolls galore, only 4 teeth, crawls to his destinations or cruises along the furniture. He has been standing without holding on for a few seconds. He is quite delighted by that accomplishment. He has a choice vocabulary of a couple syllables that he speaks with great fervor: “dat!” And “a-da!” And a few others. He mimics head tilts and we make it such a fun little game.

His ready chuckle, the way he leans his head towards me for kisses, his willingness to snuggle close just because he wants to, and how he grins from ear to ear when offered a new food are all darling aspects of his dynamic personality. But what amazes me the most about this miraculous boy is that technically he shouldn’t be here. After all, he is number 8 in our family and by modern society’s standards that is far too many children for one family to have. When people count heads as we go by, they stand aghast by the number of them.

For me, though, I have no words to describe how deeply I adore that littlest head in our bunch. And I have no words to describe the gratitude I have that God chose to bless us eight times over.

Wistful

Here we are: on the cusp of a brand new year. Saying goodbye to the old year seems especially poignant this time. Perhaps it is because I almost bid it farewell in the spring or perhaps it is because I know people who did not live to see its conclusion. Perhaps it is because each new year seems to come faster than the one before it and the speed of time is beginning to take my breath away. Perhaps it’s because nothing will ever be just like it is today. Of all the faces I know and hold close to my heart, who will only be a memory next year?

We enjoyed our Christmas season immensely. My senses felt more alive than they ever have before. I saw and heard and tasted and felt everything more keenly, so I can make the memories come alive in richer ways. There will be no Christmas exactly like this one again. Next year everyone will be one year older and it won’t be the baby’s first Christmas. Maybe it felt like my first Christmas because it was his.

Today the sun was shining and the brisk winter wind was blowing with determination. A street sign creaked in the wind on an almost empty side road. The sounds felt amplified in my heart just as the empty road and the moss waving from the trees etched themselves in my mind- symbols of constancy and change. The wind will always return but will it be the exact same wind? People will come and go on that road but will they be the same people? The trees and moss will continue to grow and observe but next year they will be different in some way.

And so the calendar’s pages will turn 12 times and it will be the month of Christmas once more. Our traditions will be dusted off and experienced; the lights will twinkle and the cards exchanged and the carols sung. But between now and then I hope to bring with me the wonder that is so easy to grasp at Christmastime. I’d like to slow the days down, make time to play, decorate with a few lights, surprise people, light candles. I would like the Christmas spirit to weave its way into every season. If it does, perhaps I won’t be nearly as wistful when this Christmas fades into memory.

Hi Martha,

I’m sitting in the coffee shop. Planners, journal, books and coffee keep me company. The new year is so close and she beckons me to set new goals, refresh aspirations and give some endeavors a second (or tenth) try. As I gaze out the window I contrast my view with what you saw outside of yours. I see the mini van I drove to get here. It’s parked with a couple hundred other cars in this parking lot. People are coming and going out of concrete buildings and carrying the world on little screens in their hands. My world and yours were very different and yet, I think I understand your dilemma.

To have the Lord in your home! What an honor! And of course you would want everything to be perfect. I know I would. I want to be the best steward of this short trip around the Sun. Do you know, I even write down playing with my babies to make sure I don’t get too busy to do it? The demands of this rushing, screen-holding world are immense. It’s easy to overlook the littlest things that mean so much.

I long for the ability to give the Lord my undivided heart and mind. I could probably sit at His feet but my mind would be racing with to-do lists the whole time. You probably felt the same way: “Let’s just get everything done and then we can savor the Savior.” But Jesus knew that time wouldn’t ever come, right? The lists don’t ever get finished and the more we move, the more we move. Our personalities yearn to do the very best we can in everything and to be still feels like doing nothing- anathema to how we are wired.

Until today, I viewed Jesus’s words to you as a rebuke: “…Mary has chosen what is better.” You were doing what I would have done! And that was only to honor the Lord with making everything perfect. How could Mary sit and ignore my efforts to have my turn at His feet too?? But now I see that Jesus was offering you (and me) a freeing invitation: “Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed…”

Only one thing is needed! Only one thing is needed. It honors the Lord for us to sit by His feet and soak in His presence. We aren’t neglecting our responsibilities when we keep Him first. If we choose Him first, there will be time for whatever else requires our attention.

As I lay out January and project into the future, and as I juggle dishes and laundry and educating my flock and fish chicken bones out of the dog’s mouth and separate biting toddlers and potty-train and soothe a teething baby and speak two consecutive sentences to my husband before I fall asleep, I will remember that really, truly, only one thing is needed. Did you embrace that freedom, Martha?

The Investment

Time. It is so temporary and so finite. It can’t be made and it can’t be kept. It is and it passes. I invest my time and then wonder if it was a worthwhile investment. Each moment I am met with a myriad of possibilities for how to use my time and no matter what I choose, I sit in nail-biting suspense to see if it was the wisest choice. How will I ever know?

At times I feel affirmed. Sometimes it’s when my toddler chooses my arms over everyone else’s but tomorrow she might choose someone else and then I’ll hang my head in discouragement all over again. Sometimes it’s when my baby searches for my face and lights up when he finds it but when he is 3 my days will probably be filled with his tantrums. Sometimes it’s when my 9-year-old confides in me that all he wants is time with me but when he is 18 he may be eager to leave. So how do I know if what I’m doing is the right time investment?

I agonize over purchases because in the moment it might seem like the right decision but in the next moment it might prove to be a mistake. And that’s how I feel about time. The good moments validate me and the rough ones nullify those. Or do they? And so I live with urgency. I want as many chances for do-overs as I can possibly get just like how I want to return purchases that proved unnecessary.

What should I be doing with the time I have? Make a treasure trove of memories to bolster my grown children in a shaky world? Becoming as close to my husband as I possibly can so he can change the world with confidence? And in all of this, what about the menial things that require so much time: the cooking and cleaning and laundry folding and planning? What about the other valuable people who comprise our community?

And when I’m no longer in this sphere of time will I even think about how I invested this moment of time that I alone am asked to steward? Will I get an answer before it is too late to change anything?

As I type this out, I believe a glimpse of an answer is coming to me. Perhaps I am not asked to steward my time entirely on my own for it is too heavy a burden. Yes, I must redeem the time. Yes, I am the only one who can live my years on this rotating sphere. But no, I am not without help. The One Who created day and night has said that I can cast my burden on Him. The One who stopped the sun for Joshua can transform my mistakes into a redemptive opportunity. The One who gave Hezekiah extra years can prompt my decision-making. And the One who made a shadow move backwards can help me live in the moment without nail-biting anxiety.

He created the days and said they were good.

When You Have Grown

As the Irish poet W.B. Yeats so insightfully wrote, “I sigh as I kiss you, for I must own, how much I will miss you, when, dear, you have grown.”

When I look at my stunning 8-year -old, there is a prismatic ache in my heart: love that threatens to burst its seams, awe at who you are, sadness that you aren’t remaining small, anticipation for who you are becoming, gratitude that God placed you in our family. All of these emotions are so deep and strong that words simply cannot adequately describe them. Perhaps that is why Russian author Fyodor Dostoyevsky expressed that “only the heart knows what is precious.”

Her seventh year was a significant one for in it she committed her life to Jesus. She noted that once she had given her life to Him she had a growing desire to serve others and, incredibly, no one in our family serves others more joyously than she. Her heart is keenly tuned to any error she might make in her day and quickly corrects herself.

Home is her happy place. Her choices for how to spend her special day reflect that: food delivered in, baking cookies, sewing together, watching a movie. Just the other day we had lit candles, turned on music and were cooking together. She declared, “I like this! Candles, music and cooking. I like making our home a cozy place.”

But our newest eight-year-old is not without spunk! She is a fierce competitor in every game, always ready to play chase or dive into a tickle fight or jump into a pool. She is diligent in all of her school studies and shows initiative in cultivating her life by journaling, planning her week, making gifts by hand for others, and writing to her penpals. She doesn’t shy away from big challenges such as bathing and dressing her toddler siblings or making a meal by herself or walking the dog. In fact, she thrives on them.

I often think how sorry I am for all the other families who don’t have a Quinley but not sorry enough to give them ours. I’m eternally grateful that she was placed into our family. She is a light to all who know her, and I know the future is already brighter with her in it. This evening she and I walked hand in hand after taking her birthday pictures. I put that memory in the treasure chest of my heart knowing all too well that while birthdays only come once a year, those years come faster every trip around the sun.

Not Made For GoodBye

My mom recently left after a delightful visit. We enjoyed the wrap up of summer with my dad and the beginning of autumn with her. But as bright as these visits are, a shadow lingers on the fringes, the somber knowing that goodbye is coming ever closer.

As with many negative feelings, I try to spin them in a positive way: at least we made memories; at least the time happened; we can look forward to the next meeting. But no matter what I do or how I re-spin the story, the bitter taste of farewell never lessens. I’ve reflected and pondered and prayed about it and am left with the conclusion that I feel this way because separation is not in our design. I’ve been compiling a list of how things should be and I’m doing this by identifying what shouldn’t be. This usually leads me back to the Garden where we glimpse the best and see it crumble.

The first goodbye in human history was at the edge of Eden. The first humans reached for the forbidden and consumed it and so began that endless concert of farewells. One can only imagine the heart wrenching separations that began at Babel where humanity once again reached for what was not theirs to have. History is a record of endings, separations and adieus; present times are no different. Children grow up and move away; friends get new jobs and leave; marriages end; life gets busy and relationships are neglected. And there is always the final farewell that comes when we are never prepared for it.

The sole creation made in the very image of God was designed for togetherness, for community, for relationship, for commitment. People are designed to bond and build and be side-by-side. It begins in our relationship with God and extends to our fellow Image-bearers. With this in mind, how do we live a life of goodbyes? How do we continue to love others and build relationships when we know that au revoir is around the corner?

I don’t know. That’s why I’m writing this blog today. But I do know that a few things ease the sting a little:

– take lots of pictures so that the memories come alive a little more.

– go back for a second or third or fourth hug so you know you took every opportunity to be close.

– do every day things so that you’ll have memories of your loved one in your daily routine.

– start planning the next visit.

– have things you do every time you are together.

– accept that goodbyes are hard and a part of life and voice those emotions. Don’t try to bottle them in.

As hard as life can be, the good parts are still really good. Soak every bit of them in and fill your world with brightness.

How do you handle goodbye?

Love Fiercely

In a world that frowns on having an unpopular opinion,

Love fiercely; speak boldly.

In a world that has shrunk to the space of a screen-

Love fiercely; put away screens, open books and go outside.

In a world that who coaxes children from home when they are far tooyoung-

Love fiercely; make home a delightful place to be.

In a world that says there is no eternity,

Love fiercely; declare the Gospel.

In a world that says to never say no and to call all things right-

Love fiercely; defend Truth.

In a world that says to follow your heart-

Love fiercely; instill a moral compass.

In a world where confusion rules,

Love fiercely; be a constant.

In a world that’s crumbling in despair,

Love fiercely; build with hope.

In a world that hates,

Love fiercely.

Nine Years a Mom

I was just switching out the baby’s clothes as he has moved from 3-6 months to 6-9 months. It gets me every time I do a clothes rotation, especially that first year because it’s tangible proof that time moves quickly. This time it’s extra poignant because it’s the eve of our oldest’s ninth birthday. That’s one year away from the double digits which means I’ve been a mom for almost a decade!!!

I know I say it in every birthday blog but I’ll say it yet again: wasn’t it just yesterday that I held this boy for the very first time? Wasn’t I just rotating his clothes from 3-6 months to 6-9 months? How is it possible that he now is almost to my shoulder and can ride his bike with no hands? And I call him Encyclopedia Man because he has an answer for every question and even for every unasked question. We all laugh about how he speaks an entire paragraph before taking a breath, and he sounds like an audiobook with the emphases and grand vocabulary and the dramatic pauses he weaves into conversations.

This boy’s birthdays are unique for me since they mark the birth of motherhood in my own life. Before children, I thought being a mom was as straightforward as babysitting: you feed and clean and entertain the children and tuck them snugly in bed before the parents come home. But this little guy and his siblings enlightened me to what babysitting does not – that parenting considers the whole person of the child and not simply covering the physical care for a few hours. Parenting is about teaching the child how to best live while figuring out how to do that myself.

Here we are, nine years later, halfway to eighteen, and I stand fascinated by this young individual. He reads as easily as he breathes, absorbing every word and recounting them to me later on. He weaves intricate stories of his own and brings them to life with his toys. He cares for nature with tenderness and is loved by all his pets. He is revered by his younger brothers (his sisters view him with a mixture of tolerance and good humor). And most honorable of all, he values integrity.

While this boy of ours is always ready for a good joke, the seeds of quality character that were sown from infancy have taken root in his young heart. Whenever he is listening to a story or life situation, he is quick to advocate for the underdog or detail how he would approach a given dilemma. He recognizes the necessity of spending time with Jesus every day and often ponders deep spiritual matters. I am so thankful that he doesn’t delay to make things right when he knows that his actions have created a rift between us and he doesn’t hesitate to offer me forgiveness when I ask for it.

One of our favorite pastimes is to watch home videos from the early years. We laugh about the silly antics and sigh wistfully over how cute those chubby cheeks were. And how darling he was when he talked. I distinctly remember thinking that those years would linger. But they didn’t. They moved as swiftly as this boy talks. Those videos are a reminder that change happens before our very eyes and we can’t take a moment for granted. And so, as we embark on another year together- me as a first time mom to him and he as a burgeoning young gentleman- I stand in awe of the miracle of life. He is brimming with potential and I have the joy of helping him flourish every single day.

Growing Boy

“Sing Amazing Grace” was the request as I tucked in my little boy just three days before his birthday. As I began to softly sing this family favorite I was suddenly joined by his baby voice singing along with me! He hasn’t done that before and I mentally recorded that moment. I kissed his little face and prepared to go out and then heard, “thank you Jesus, Mom!” I settled back on his bed and began to pray aloud as he told me his requests: “thank you Jesus for Rowan. Thank you Jesus for his birthday…” After talking about how excited he is for his special day coming up, I slipped out with a full heart.

In those bedtime moments I had a flash back to a treasured memory from when he was an infant. I was standing by his crib, singing his lullabies and I caught sight of our shadows on the wall: my head and his round baby head snuggled close together. The two blended shadows almost looked like a heart. I had taken a mental snapshot of that image as well. I knew how time would fly. Now my little boy is in his own room, in his own bed, with thoughts all his own and the vocabulary to express them.

This athletic boy astounds me every day with his physical prowess. Riding his bike, jumping from ridiculous angles and heights, riding a rocking horse by standing on the seat with arms outstretched, and dancing to the Encanto soundtrack are just some of the things he enjoys doing every day. But in the midst of all of his activity he still finds time to snuggle his baby brother, look at his favorite books for up to an hour at a time, find flowers for me, and chat with me about the adventures his imagination has planned out.

Rowan owns life. From completely potty-training himself just after his second birthday to not needing shoes even on the hottest and roughest surfaces, he proves his mind over matter abilities. He replies to questions with such confidence that he almost convinces me he knows everything. He makes his requests with such conviction that giving him a negative answer nearly seems out of the question. He walks with such purpose that one would never doubt his destination is expecting him. And the comfort he feels in his own skin makes clothing unnecessary to him (quite literally! A completely dressed Rowan is a rare sight indeed).

My admiration and love for this boy runs deep. It began even before I knew him as I longed for him before we knew he was destined to join our family. His intensity for living doesn’t always make me smile, however. From sleep regression as an infant to weaning before I was ready to short fuses that sent us into hurricane-prep mode in order to protect anything within his reach, he has driven me to desperation at times…and to my knees. And as I have prayed and persevered he has come through all of it. One of his greatest achievements has been to recognize his temper and run to his room to vent, then coming out composed. This has shown me how willing he is to learn and practice and grow and that I can do the same.

This boy is iron and steel wrapped around a fervently beating heart. I pray that heart will always be tender to His Savior and a hurting world and that his strength will never diminish.

The Caged Bird Sings

On my wall I have a canvas art piece of a bird in a cage. It reminds me of one Maya Angelou’s poems: “ I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.” The last stanza is my favorite:

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

There are days when life is just perfect, as perfect as life on earth can be. The children are all getting along. I respond to the challenges thrown my way in a way that leaves me with no regrets. I feel close to my friends and my extended family. My husband and I had a chance to speak 3 complete sentences together that were not parenting related. My house sparkles and shines and the laundry is put away. The sun isn’t too hot and there’s a little breeze dancing with the leaves and singing with the wind chimes. Perfection.

But then there are the days that are just so hard. They are hard before I even wake up since I’m beginning the day on mere moments of sleep. They continue hard as mean tones jump from my throat as I reprove the mean tones leaping from child to child. I resent my husband for being able to drive to work in complete silence and have adult conversation with a variety of people. I trip and stumble and fall catastrophically on all of my sinful tendencies. And the day ends hard.

And then there are the days with a mixture of both: the brutally hard sprinkled with moments of perfection. The falling and then the picking up and brushing off. The tears and then the weepy smiles. The harshness and the reconciliation. The broken and the restored. Most days are like this: days of contrasts, with perplexing juxtapositions. And in those days I know why the caged bird sings.

I am an eternal soul in a temporal body. I am designed in the image of God for eternity. My entire person longs to be freed from the chains of sin in this decaying culture on this sobbing planet. But God allows me to catch glimpses of what I look forward to and those glimpses cause me to sing even as I am weary of the struggle. Life is the struggle. The caged bird sings of freedom.

Broken Things

A week and a day ago a valued item was broken by my children. It was a sturdy stick horse that I had gotten at an antique shop years ago. I had gotten it on a trip visiting my late grandma, and I had hand carried it on the plane back to Hawaii. It was a dream come true to see my children enjoying it and knowing that decades before they existed I had been thinking about them.

Today it was a favorite mug that my sister had given me over ten years ago when I first started teaching with her. It was one of those cups that tapered towards the base and was painted in soft greens with pastel daisies delicately painted on it. Psalm 29:11 flowed in pretty lettering underneath them. Drinking from it connected me with her and it brought a familiar closeness I could depend on each morning.

I know the rote reminders that we shouldn’t value things above people, that we shouldn’t lay up treasure where moths and rust and (children’s fingers) destroy, that the memories are still there. But I still wept. I wept, not for the things, but for the reminder that life is temporary and the memories can be remembered but not relived. Those tangible links kept them closer and now that they are broken the past feels farther away.

I wept because at times I feel invisible. I cultivate and nurture and tend and ponder and work to make my home a cozy, safe, thriving place. And when things I especially value come crashing down my efforts feel futile: who is tending me? For me it was a toy horse and a coffee cup. But I’m sure we all have those treasures that break: dreams, hopes, business efforts, a pet, a friendship, plans, things, or hearts. When they come crashing down it’s like an arrow has found a chink in our armor of best intentions and our humanity bleeds out.

I’m going to rally. I swept up the broken pieces, dried my tears, and took the children outside. It still hurts and the empty spot in my cupboard stings. But when I’m standing before the throne of Jesus it won’t even cross my mind. When earth and eternity merge…

The Right Filter

Are you familiar with photo filters? If you’re on social media at all, you’ve definitely seen them. Filters can change the color shades of a photo. They can add sparkles and stars or even change our complexions. Some of them put masks on the subjects of the photos. A filter can truly change the tone and impression of a picture.

Annoying antics happen all the time in our house. Liquids are more often out of the cup instead of in it. Crayons are so much more fun to use on walls and floors and furniture than on paper. Voices just happen to get louder when baby siblings are napping. And the best toys are plungers in toilet bowls and unrolling toilet paper. It’s all the stuff that writes up a fun story but is just so frustrating for a busy mama trying to run a smooth household. I sure wish I could say that I just smiled and laughed each time those things happen. I probably do the first or second time something happens but come the fifth or sixth occurrence my fuse is all too short.

I wonder what would happen if I changed my filter. Instead of letting the moment dictate my response to life perhaps I could ask myself:

• Will I remember this incident when he is 18?
• If I do remember it, will I still find it frustrating or will I laugh about it instead?
• (And on those particularly trying days) When I am in heaven and worshiping before God’s throne, will I remember this incident?
• If I do remember it (and I doubt I will), will it matter at all?

Just as a filter doesn’t alter the chemistry of the photo itself, neither will my questions change the frustrating situations that pop up each day. But photo filters can adjust the perspective of the photo and the emotions it generates. I think the right filter on life can make all the difference in the world when it comes to responding to life in a lighter fashion. I’ll need to give it a try.

Thoughts After a Diaper Blow Out

I knew he had filled his diaper but I was crossing my fingers that we could make it through the service. He seemed to be drifting to sleep in my lap and my busy toddler had settled into the car seat on the floor. Maybe I would be able to hear the sermon after all! The warmth oozing across my lap dashed my hopes. I lifted him up and saw yellow down my dress. I quickly packed us up and headed to the restroom where I began the long process of giving my squalling infant a full body wipe down while my oldest made sure the toddler didn’t splash in any of the toilets.

All in all it didn’t ruin my day. My mom friends and I got a good laugh out of it and I really was so thankful I had worn a yellow dress. I also applauded my diaper bag packing skills because I had everything I needed (aside from a change of clothes for myself). And best of all, it makes for a GREAT story. Most extreme situations caused by young children do that. But I still felt frazzled and that got me to thinking.

For some time God has been showing me that this season of motherhood is a season of rest and the big blow out drove that lesson home. Life with young children doesn’t seem restful: night after night of sleep deprivation; teething and screaming and more teething and more screaming and growth spurts and sleep regressions and more nights of no sleep, night terrors, meals and laundry and messes.

But it’s also a season of meandering walks, lots and lots of reading, snuggles on the couch, sleeping babies in bed, low academic pressures, TONS of reasons to celebrate, flourishing imaginations, and being able to solve almost all problems by going outside, reading a new story or blowing some bubbles. A lot of the additional stress i experience is from feeling like I have expectations to meet such as trying to keep a spotless house all day long, keeping all the social commitments, being early for every appointment, or feeling like my children need to behave around the clock because the alternative means I’m a failing mom.

But Jesus says that all who are weary and heavy laden should come to Him and He will give them rest. He doesn’t qualify His statement with “If you are” or “when you are”. He says “all who are.” I like that. Does it mean He will do my dishes or fold my laundry or take a night shift or two? Probably not. I think it means He will change my mindset to relieve it of the unnecessary expectations so I can take the days in stride. In doing so I will have the wisdom and creativity to handle the challenges that come. And I will see that a day doesn’t have to be perfect to be good; in fact, the best days might be the ones with the most challenges in them.

What I Didn’t See

I’m trying to put down my phone. It’s hard. There’s so much on it than is more than a phone. In fact, I hardly use the phone portion of my phone; it’s a camera, a timer, a record-keeper, a recipe resource, an encyclopedia, a store, a radio…there’s always some good reason why I need to have it close. But I’m trying to put my phone down.

Not long ago I sat in my rocking chair to feed the baby and stopped my hand when I reached for my phone. Instead, I sat. Before long the littlest girl toddled by and I decided to observe her: how she walked, how she stooped to pick up the tiniest thing on the floor, how she tipped her head as she babbled away, how she carried her selected toys. It wad adorable! And then I wondered how much has been happening around me that I missed because my eyes were on the screen.

Putting my phone down during the day feels less efficient. But when I think of the fun expressions on my children’s faces that I’ve glimpsed or the conversations I’ve tuned into or the changing sunlight moving through the windows as our day progresses or spotting the hummingbird by our bottlebrush tree I realize there is more to life than efficiency. In some ways, I’m starting to feel like every moment that my eyes are on a screen could be better spent elsewhere.

I certainly don’t have it all figured out since even by writing this blog I am on my phone (hence why it has taken me weeks to finish). For most of my social connections it is the only way we can keep in touch, and I am thankful for the enrichment opportunities it offers. But moving forward I no longer want to feel like the majority of my life has been spent on a screen or is dependent on one. My world is bigger and richer and deeper than that; it’s time to give my spirit the chance to experience the hidden layers that are otherwise easily missed.

A Summer of Savings

I’m doing something different this summer, and I wanted to include you in my challenge. With rising costs in every aspect of life, I am feeling the urgency of saving money even more. This summer I am going to look for ways to spend less and save more. Here are some ideas (some are my own and some I have gleaned from others):

• See what I can sell and put that money in the bank.
• Conserve wherever possible: water, electricity, food, school supplies, gas, etc.
• Avoid new purchases: only buy what absolutely must be bought new.

And here are some strategies I plan to implement in order to stick with the ideas ☝🏻:

• Shop from my own house before rushing to buy something: I have a lot of extras that I’m not even aware I have. I’d like to practice being resourceful.
• If I don’t have it at home, then I want to wait and see if I can find it at a thrift store or garage sale. The waiting period may prove I don’t need the item.
• Reduce, reuse, recycle (of course!)
• Make a memory instead of making a purchase
• Set a monthly savings goal and celebrate when we reach it.

At the end of each month I’m going to write about how close I got to my goal and what I did that helped accomplish that. Hopefully this will become a habit and last all year. Do you want to join in on the savings fun? Share your ideas!

The One in the Middle

The other day Simeon and I were hanging out together and I said, “Simeon! Your birthday is on Sunday!” His little face exploded into a smile and he said, “It is?!” And then he shouted to everyone, “My burstday is on Sunday!” In that moment I realized just how adorably young this brand new four-year old is. We have been talking about his birthday all month as a family but he didn’t know it was so close. The concept of time is still developing in this tiny man and there’s something sweet about that. There are many things about this guy that I adore.

His speaking style is second to none in our family. We have talked about making a dictionary just for him because his pronunciation of some words is just so unique and he comes up with creative alternatives too. Here are a few:

• Youse = your
• Diarrhea = quesadilla
• Hurricane = candy cane
• Fouryee = four
• Shoryts = shorts

I’m sure one day he will outgrow his style of speaking but I hope it’s not too soon. It just fits him perfectly and I could listen to him talk all day.

His swagger is distinct. He walks with chest out and shoulders back as if to dare anyone to stand in his way. He is always ready to stand his ground, snuggle blanket faithfully by his side. He is a powder keg- a wrong look can result in an explosive outburst. He wastes no time in yelling, “I am so mad right now!” Perhaps being in the middle causes him to feel like he needs to make his presence felt and feelings heard in a way that is stronger than most.

But he is not all bristles. He melts into our arms just as easily as he takes on a fight. He has been known to walk around the house teary-eyed simply because he wants some extra cuddles from Mama or Poppa. The other day I was just sitting and watching him play with his cars and dragons and blocks. He was narrating the plot of his playtime to himself when all of a sudden he said, “I love you, Mom.” In that moment he taught me that he feels loved when I’m just there, focused on him- something almost effortless on my part.

And then there is his mischievous side. His eyes start dancing and a half smile (his dimpled side) appears and we just know a prank is percolating. Before too long, chaos erupts somewhere in the house and a blond head shows up looking as innocent as ever. I try to laugh most of the time but there are days when I do wish he was as innocent as he looks.

We could have stopped at two boys and two girls but I sure am glad that God blessed us with this little man in the middle. He keeps us laughing and cuddling and praying for patience, just what we need to be the parents he needs.

In Training…Always

Today is Mother’s Day. Since it isn’t my first one, I kept my expectations very low and only requested a picture with all 8 and time to write. The photo shoot was a circus and I’m writing this blog in the midst of nap-less toddlers roaming the house. I’ve shed a few tears of frustration but only a few. You see, I’m in training and they are too and that’s life in a nutshell. Is it a bad thing? I don’t think so. We grow in the process.

Our golden retriever was about 6 months old when I bought a harness for him that said: IN TRAINING. He was large for his young age; when we took him out and about I wanted people to know he was still a puppy and needed a little extra patience from them. It was also a reminder for me too- when he pulled too hard on the leash or couldn’t control his bladder when he got excited or chewed something up. If I remembered he was still in training, it was easier for me to be patient with him.

This imagery came to my mind recently on a particularly trying day. Rarely does a day go by without one person being a challenge and my feeling like I could have handled the challenge with a calmer, more thoughtful approach. But if I remember that my children are still new to this earth and learning how to regulate their emotions and interact with their environment, patience and compassion assist in restraining my emotional reactions.

Following this thought I noticed that memories made and lessons learned from my own childhood were more frequently visiting my thoughts. I can honestly say I have not thought about my childhood training as much as I have now- just a few years shy of 40. It makes the proverb ring true: “Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old [grown], he will not depart from it.” Not only are my children in the training years for now and years to come, I am too. Parenthood is not something you can study for ahead of time; it is on-the-job training in every sense of the term. Each day I am a little more practiced in some respects and a novice in others. Embracing these training years can help me laugh at the mishaps and be peaceful in the tumult.

I am comforted by the knowledge that I may not see fruit or even buds from my efforts with my children for years to come. What matters is that I am consistent in doing what I know is right and surrendering to the training process in my own life. Being a mother isn’t just about pointing my children to Jesus; it’s about following Him myself. And that’s a humbling thought.

Like Sand

The first week of March I celebrated another year of life. The next day I birthed a new life. Two days later I had a brush with death and spent several days in the hospital, including three days in the ICU. Those days away from my family and the following weeks altered my perspective on being alive.

I was keenly aware of being separated from my children, especially my newborn. Separation was the farthest thing from my mind when I was planning my postpartum recovery. A sterile hospital room was a far cry from my cozy home and cuddling with my baby in his first days of life. By the time I could cuddle with him he was nearly a week old and that hurt so much. When I did get home, everyone seemed taller and more capable; I wrestle with those lost days.

On a daily basis we hear of tragedy: lives gone in a heartbeat or calamity leaving devastation in its wake. Tragic news has become so commonplace that I had almost become desensitized to it; my sympathy almost rote. But as the ER team worked to save my life, I encountered my vulnerability and in an instant felt the fragility of my existence. I was one missed heartbeat away from death and there was nothing I could do about it. And if I was that fragile, my existence that temporary, what does that mean for my husband? My children? My siblings? My parents? Everyone I hold close and who they hold close?

There’s a juxtaposition in my mind consisting of my newest son’s birth and the tenuous thread upon which life hangs. There is such power in the transition from unborn to born; in terms of distance , it is a relatively short journey but the process is complex. And yet everything in the process is designed to bring that life into the world. It’s powerful and miraculous and intricate. It is this complexity that builds within me a yearning to value each moment of existence.

At times it hurts to think of the days we won’t get back. For instance, I can’t get back those days when my baby was two, three, and four days old and I wasn’t able to see him because I was in the ICU. My littlest girl matured so much while I was in the hospital and I missed that process too. I worry about my parents getting older and they live so far away; all of those days apart between annual visits are days forever gone and not shared. As sand slips through our hands only leaving a few grains on our fingertips, so time moves on with only a few moments fully developed into lasting memories.

A friend reminded me that as finite human beings we will never be able to be as present in each moment as we want to be and that requires some acceptance. However, intentional living can be accomplished to some extent: take mental pictures of those ordinary moments that have become so dear. Today I took one of my mom’s profile as she sat by me in church; I took another one of my newborn’s toes pressed against the palm of my hand; and I took several mental photos of my baby girl practicing her toddling steps. I am tuning into my toddlers’ darling ways of talking and our older children’s silly jokes; I am appreciating that I can soothe a sick child’s worries and can tuck everyone into bed at night.

Sand might be slipping through my fingers but I am making sandcastles along the way.

A Rainy Easter

Most Easters in my memory are filled with sunny skies, the scent of lilies, and brunches surrounded by spring breezes. I always thought it was fitting to have sunshine pouring down on a day symbolizing hope and new life; just as an overcast day would sober the spirit on Good Friday.

But this Easter we drove to church under cloudy skies, chill winds and rain spattering our windshield. We had planned to pour out of the van singing songs and ringing bells but instead we had to hurry inside after unloading by the church entrance. It was different and somewhat unsettling for my spirit; I struggled to focus on the main point of the day as I wondered if everyone was prepared for the change in weather. But isn’t that how it is?

This Easter I know of several friends carrying heavy heart loads. I have some burdens of my own. And truth be told, rarely is there an ideal time to enter into our faith. Just today I spent the bulk of the service out in the lobby soothing the baby to sleep and I wasn’t the only mom out there. The fact is that our faith is user friendly. It can withstand every day wear and tear as well as the unexpected: the trials and tragedies of a sin-marred world.

The rain today didn’t rewrite history: the cross is still empty and the tomb barren. We can rejoice in life-giving hope even as we mourn or fall in a crumpled, exhausted heap at our Savior’s feet. Ours is a living joy on rainy Easters and sunny ones.

Like Sacrifices

I’ve been wrestling with this blog for some time. The concept of sacrificial living has been pressing heavier on my heart and I would like to share what I am discovering: not because I’m perfectly applying it but because it is important and I want to get better at it. Over the past two months we have been abundantly blessed by people willing to sacrifice their time and resources for our benefit, and our pastor’s sermons have had the theme of sacrifice woven throughout. Let’s take a deeper look.

In one sermon our pastor mentioned that we have all been given time, talents and treasure. As Christians submitted to the lordship of Christ, these all belong to Him. Upon hearing this I adamantly agreed, but then I wondered how that fleshes out for someone like me- I’m pretty much at home during the week; I don’t have any sparkling talents to speak of; and my hobby businesses aren’t lucrative enough to save a starving child in Africa. In other words, am I really a living sacrifice candidate? I’ve been considering what sacrifice looks like in my life.

1. Sacrifice can involve seeing others. During my hospitalization in March, and the following weeks of anxiety, pain, and depression, my thoughts frequently drifted to others who were suffering or who had suffered and I found a unique empathy for them that I previously had not felt. I realized that sometimes the stony path needs to be felt beneath my feet for me to grasp a little more of what it’s like in someone else’s shoes. It’s easy to make sweeping judgments about someone else’s experiences and how I think I would handle things if I was in their place; it’s easy to be consumed by my own hardships and tune out the pain in my neighbor’s life; it’s hard to discipline my emotions and thoughts enough to make room for the struggles of the people next to me. That’s sacrifice.

2. Sacrifice means choosing joy. I won’t lie. I like to wallow: in self-pity; in fatigue; in pessimism; in a negative mindset. But when I wallow I bring everyone in my home down with me. Basically, I rob them of a good day. There are days when I have to grit my teeth and get moving, doing the right thing and speaking with the right tones. It’s a choice that involves sacrifice because it is often the last thing my flesh wants to do.

3. Sacrifice puts “self” in the appropriate perspective. I have value; however, I am quick to assume that putting others first equates to devaluing my life. But my life does have value because Christ claims me as His own. Playing the martyr every day does not bring glory to God or promote a joyful atmosphere but living in the knowledge of my eternal value does. When I set my mind on praising God for His sacrifice, it brings joy to follow in His steps for those around me. And that is sustainable sacrificial living.

After ironing out my thoughts in this blog, I think that there is ample opportunity for me to live a sacrificial life. My prayer is that Christ will equip me to do just that every day.

Live It Up!

It’s my 38th birthday. I always reflect deeper on my birthday and even more so as I prepare for the imminent arrival of my 8th child. I find that birthdays and BIRTH days automatically cause me to evaluate where I’ve been, who I am, and what’s next.

Motherhood is currently my primary occupation. It’s not a glamorous one: my days are usually filled with cleaning up spills, repeating instructions, breaking up fights, washing smelly laundry, scraping dirty dishes, wiping running noses, changing stinky diapers, unclogging toilets…well, you get the idea. It’s a far cry from a decade and more ago.

Back in my previous life I traveled frequently, even to Europe multiple times. I worked with fascinating people on a beautiful tropical island. I focused completely on my higher education, earned multiple degrees, received accolades as a teacher, had a career plus side jobs, and poured myself into ministry. It was a rich, amazing life that revolved around my interests and passions. At times I wonder if I shouldn’t have seized even more opportunities when I had the chance to do so. Now I’m focused on juggling: juggling household tasks with newborn schedules with teaching my children with my own hobbies when I have a spare second.

This morning over a yummy birthday breakfast I intentionally absorbed the chance to study each face around the table. I listened to my husband singing to me and strumming on the ukulele. All of our people were smiling and clapping and celebrating with me; each one unique and a story unfolding. He and I have given up so much time together because we are parents. We don’t go out much or have the chance to indulge our whims and fancies. We frequently feel like we are parents first and marriage partners second. Should we have done more before this life began?

Society tells young people to live it up when they have the chance. Before the babies and the burdens of family life begin they should play all they can and enjoy the freedom of no responsibility. Maybe that’s all true. But to me that portrays the fun as the real living. You see, in the midst of my single life I was really just killing time as I waited for my heart’s desire to begin: a handsome husband with whom to raise a family.

Flipping back through the pages of the past we see that pivotal history wasn’t made by people living for fun; what was significant in positive ways came from those living with intention. Self-sacrifice is a requirement when raising a family but that is true of any investment worth making. One day I will catch a glimpse of each of these children leaving their mark in our world and I’ll know that these years were the ones when I was truly living it up.

Every Day Grace

We have behavioral regressions happening in our home. Issues we thought had been resolved are cropping up again and are dominating our days. They affect everyone; no man is an island and the misbehavior of one truly does impact everyone around them.

I’m not immune to the parenting posts and blogs and books and the impression they give that if I follow a few certain steps my children will immediately respond favorably. And if they’re not responding? Well, that must mean there’s an error in my parenting strategies somewhere. But when my mind slips on that mental slide, I have to quickly rein it in and face the facts: my children are human and humans are sinners and sinners need a Savior. At this point, the majority of them have no inclination to curb those carnal impulses. If they want something, they yank it away from someone else. If they’re angry, they scream or throw something. If someone hurts them, they hurt back. Self dominates in those adorable little bodies and we all know it. The parents’ responsibility is to create the boundaries of behavior and consistently enforce them.

And there are days when that goes well. I see progress in myself and them as I accept the training process and respond to their struggles with compassion and gentleness. And then there are days when I’m back to the beginning and it seems like all of the old habits have returned: in them and me. Their misconduct is met with frustration and impatience on my part and we face off with determined glares and rigid posture. After a flurry of warnings and consequences, no one feels peaceful inside.

It’s following times like that when I’m reminded of how much I’m included in the first paragraph of this blog post. The flesh versus spirit battle that I see so vividly in my offspring is a daily constant for me as well; I just tend to mostly gloss over it with creative excuses. The fact is that this daily battle with sin is opportunity for daily doses of grace- for them and me. This doesn’t mean that sinful behavior is excused or given room to flourish; it does mean that steps off the path are met with compassion and grudges aren’t held.

Romans 8 has a long list of things that won’t separate us from the love of God once we are His. I think I need to make a similar list for my children. Nothing can separate them from my love: neither temper tantrums nor broken treasures, neither thrown objects or screaming, neither neglected chores or routine late night wake-ups, neither sibling squabbles or endless complaining. This isn’t so much a reminder for them as it is for me. Just as God doesn’t hold my hourly failures against me because of His great love for me, I need to show continual grace towards my children because of my unconditional love for them.

Romans 8 also holds that beautiful reminder of all things working together for good- and every day there is some good to hold on to. Perhaps it’s belly laughing together or genuine interest in family worship or children playing amiably together, or a hilarious story being shared or a moment of quiet in the house. The good is there and is just as valid and real as the things that are less than favorable. Remembering the good when I engage with my children is another form of grace upon grace.

I cannot hold my children to a standard of perfection; neither can I hold myself to that standard either. But every day I need to encourage each of us to keep moving forward because God’s grace allows us to not call it quits.

And Then There Was You

Our precious second daughter,

Here you are on your sixth birthday. In some ways, six is still such a little girl. And you are such a little girl: you love bright, shiny things; you enjoy dressing up and getting new shoes; you take such wonderful care of your baby dolls and stuffed animal friends; you set up wonderful tea parties with your big sister.

But when I reflect on you as a baby and then a toddler, six seems like such a mature age. And you have matured in extraordinary ways! You have gone from the immobility of infancy to riding your bike, swimming like a dolphin, dancing, climbing and swinging. You have gone from the dramatics of a toddler to being a dependable helper. You no longer use your voice to scream your emotions; instead, you sing during your devotions, eagerly read to us from the Bible, and ask many questions. You have an irreplaceable spot in our family and have coined many terms and phrases that only work when you say them.

While I do wistfully recall your months of babyhood and regret how quickly they passed, I find this stage of your girlhood a sweet one. I soak in your spontaneity and treasure your tight embraces, especially when they’re paired with those timeless words: “I love you SO much, Mama.” I hope you never stop dancing or helping or singing or giggling or dressing up or offering your sweet words of encouragement.

I’m thankful you will be six for an entire year,

Mama

Wrapping Up the Old Year

“Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good. His love endures forever…to Him who alone does great wonders, His love endures forever.”

It’s that time of year when we look ahead and reflect on what’s to come. A new year is the ideal opportunity for a fresh start, a do-over in certain areas, a blank slate, a calendar of unlimited potential, a goal-maker’s dream. But what do we do with the old year?

It hardly seems fair to toss it in the trash heap of worn out years or to kick it aside as 12-months of failed tries or to forget about it as we jump into something new. It’s part of the history that makes us who we are; we can’t change it and, while some aspects might be nice to forget, I’m sure there are things about it worth remembering. I have a suggestion.

Let’s wrap up our old year as a gift to the new. Psalm 136 is a recounting of God’s wondrous deeds for His people. Each attribute and action listed is followed up with the fact that His love endures forever. But I like to remember the “behind the scenes” of these magnificent deeds: desperate situations, messy moments, failed promises and broken people. In spite of all the havoc of humanity on history, God’s love endures forever.

As I prepare for the bright, shiny, promising year that’s only days away, I want to gift myself the hope that flows from one year to the next. When remembering 2022, my mind immediately jumps to all the mishaps and mistakes but I do want to push beyond them to see how God came through for me. Mercy, forgiveness, inexplicable joy, unexpectedly good outcomes abound- all testimonies of His love enduring forever. What a memorable Christmas gift!

When you are tucking your gifts under the tree, will you add your old year too?

The Value of Tradition

Simplifying the holidays is trending these days. My newsfeed is filled with moms talking about how they are de-stressing the season by nixing many familiar traditions. Some are finding alternatives to gifts; others are not mailing out cards; and a few aren’t even bringing out the tree and decorations. As I’m prone to do, I start comparing my thoughts and opinions and lifestyle with what I see on social media so I’ve been thinking more about our holiday traditions.

It sounds appealing to not be stressed- this time of year or ever. But is tossing out tradition truly the remedy for stress? I remember when, in my early adult years, my family decided to not do Christmas gifts anymore. I felt very sad about it because seeing the surprise and delight when my loved ones opened up their gifts from me was one of my favorites dimensions of Christmas. This year my mom sent a video of my childhood home all decorated and a flood of pleasant memories filled my mind as I recalled the stories associated with those familiar decorations and helping her decorate as a child. I think traditions anchor our lives in a changing world.

During Communion at church this morning, I reflected on all the traditions God has instituted for His people: the festivals and feasts and celebrations and daily reminders. The annual repetition of these events refreshes in our minds what is significant in this life. This is crucial in a time when anything traditional is considered a hindrance, a robber of self-fulfillment. On the contrary, however, traditions link us to our past and connect us with our faith, family and friends. Traditions add meaning to our existence as we carry on what was done by our parents, grandparents, great-grandparents and so forth.

This does not mean that every Christmas we have to do it all: mail 500 cards, make 20 cookie recipes, give presents to every person we have ever known, put up Pinterest-worthy decorations, and attend all the parties. But I think with careful evaluation and discussion we can find a way to curate traditions that will cultivate a heritage of tradition for the next generations to carry on. Here are some suggestions for how to do that:

• Before cutting a tradition, talk to family members about it. Consider their love languages. Different traditions speak differently to each individual and you don’t want to nix something that holds deep meaning to someone else.
• Write down priorities. Are nightly Advent readings a must-do? What about time with friends? Staying connected with long distance loved ones? After you have made your list, start jotting down ways you can touch on each priority without being overloaded. Maybe bake 4 recipes instead of 10? Or attend one social event instead of 5? Set a price cap on what you’ll spend on each child, for example.
• Put a pause on regular routines. You can put on hold the things you do all the rest of the year in order to make room for your festive plans.
• Linger over some things. We have decided to do 3 days of Christmas so we aren’t trying to cram all the special things into one day.
• Start early. I set a goal to get our cards going in November and to have all the shopping done by the first week of December. This gives me a chance to work on mailing and wrapping at a less frantic pace.

Ultimately, each family needs to determine what works the best for them. A few things done very well can be more memorable than a packed schedule easily forgotten in years to come. But more than anything: make traditions and keep them. There is more value in repetition than we may ever realize.

In But Not Of

I’ve been thinking a lot about this phrase. It’s one thing to apply it to myself; it’s another to apply it to a household. Two key events brought this more recently to my mind: Disney’s defiance against traditional values was one and the other was Halloween.

This year Disney has openly declared its support of the LGBTQ+ agenda and that not only do they support it, they will also be promoting it in their upcoming films. Suddenly I started to notice Disney’s influence everywhere I turned: music, toys, bumper stickers, food labels, clothing, people’s vacation plans. Disney is iconic and has woven itself into the fabric of our society. It is truly a household name; so many of our fond childhood memories involve something Disney; whether it be Winnie the Pooh and Eeyore or Mickey Mouse or all those classic friends such as Lady and the Tramp, Dumbo, or Copper and Todd. I’m sure you can add to that list of memories. And don’t we all want to pass them on to our children? But does including some Disney in our life mean that we are celebrating them?

When Halloween rolled around this fall, our children were more aware of it than ever before. They couldn’t help but be intrigued with something that even friends at church participate in. There’s a thrill that comes with candy and dressing up and being a little scared. But they also don’t like the horror and gore that lines store shelves and neighborhoods. This time I did a bit of research and discovered the original religious roots of this holiday. It turns out that All Hallow’s Eve (Oct. 31st) is a time to remember the eternity of our souls and the certainty of death so each child held a lit candle and we read in Revelation about the White Throne of Judgment:

November first is All Saint’s Day and we made soul cakes with holes in the middle. We remembered the martyrs and missionaries who dedicated their lives to telling others about the gospel. We discussed how every person is empty until we surrender our lives to Jesus and He fills us.

The third day of observation is All Souls Day. The children drew pictures about people who impact their lives and also drew about the people with whom they want to share Jesus:

I hope that we can build on this new fall tradition and I am also thinking that I can apply what I learned from my efforts to other aspects of this world. Perhaps I can take the evil of this society we live in and use it as opportunity for teaching our children about what we truly believe. Maybe there are ways to enjoy the nostalgia of Disney without supporting them financially or endorsing their messages; maybe there are ways for our family to be familiar with what is trending so that we can engage our neighbors in discussions that take us all a little deeper in thought. Maybe.

I’m starting to conclude that the key to being in and not of is being the salt and the light within the world. Just as salt brings flavor and light provides contrast, in a world that has nothing but emptiness to give our presence can offer comfort and hope because we are not of it. We are certain of what is not seen.

Yesterday

Wasn’t it just yesterday that I met you for the very first time?

Wasn’t it just last night that I dressed you in my doll’s pajamas?

Wasn’t it just this morning that I peeked into your bassinet and felt such awe that you were mine?

Wasn’t it just this afternoon when we sat in the shade and you cooed a story to the fluffy clouds floating by?

Wasn’t it just yesterday when you decided to walk?

Wasn’t it just last night when you moved from your crib to your big girl bed?

Wasn’t it just this morning when you showed me you could read from your Bible?

Wasn’t it just this afternoon that you learned to ride your bike?

Seven years of yesterdays have charmed me with your graceful, loving presence in my life.

Tomorrow will present us with an elegant young woman who is skilled in caring for a home, loving on children, immersing herself in a good book and pursuing Jesus. I’m so thankful we have today to get there.

I love you, my little girl. Happy birthday!

A Lantern in her Hand:

A reflection on the novel written by Bess Streeter Aldrich

I met a kindred spirit last month. We have nothing in common: she lived in the 1800’s, was a pioneer living in a sod house, helped build a state, lived through 3 wars, and is a fictional character. But somehow my heart understood hers completely.

Throughout the passing weeks I’ve mused about how often Abbie Deal comes to mind. What did I learn from her? Why did she impact me so much? How can I emulate her? To answer those questions, I need to share an important detail about Abbie: she had dreams. Since she was a small child she wanted to be famous and beautiful and talented. She adored singing, valued refinement, and cared about her appearance. For love’s sake, she turned down one marriage proposal that could have given her all of her dreams almost instantly and accepted another marriage proposal that gave her a soddy house on a prairie and five children to birth and raise in it. Without complaint, she embraced her life and tucked away her dreams for a more opportune time.

But she never forgot her dreams and as they hid in her heart they became a part of all she did without her even realizing it. Each one shaped her perspective of the staggering trials she endured and influenced how she cultivated her home and children. She found poetry on the prairie, taught her children to value the arts and found a way to make even the soddy house pretty. And her dreams were fleshed out in her children. Each time she intentionally brought her dreams to mind and reflected on her longing to experience them, tears would come to my eyes for those moments revealed her humanity.

Abbie Deal taught me something. She taught me that our dreams make us who we are; not by relentlessly pursuing them but by simply not letting them go. Contemporary society tells us that we must live out our dreams no matter the cost to our family or our souls; we might not realize how high a price we paid for those dreams until it is too late. What contemporary society doesn’t teach us, is that our dreams can come alive in intangible ways. They can influence our approach to living: how we walk and talk, work and play, think and decide. Dreams become a part of our identity and influence how we interact with our world and how it interacts with us.

Ironically, this staunchly pioneer woman wasn’t real in the sense that I could find her gravestone in Nebraska. But she was real in every other sense of the word. I ached in her pain, joined in her joy, struggled in her exhaustion and felt her despair in the core of my being. When she was on the cusp of womanhood, Abbie Deal didn’t realize her dreams would never be realized as she imagined they would; as life unfolded, they inspired her to keep going. It wasn’t until the end that she saw the completed picture and reflected:

“You can’t describe love…and you can’t define it. Only it goes with you all your life. I think that love is more like a light that you carry. At first childish happiness keeps it lighted, and after that romance. Then motherhood lights it and then duty, and maybe after that sorrow. You wouldn’t think that sorrow could be a light…But it can. And then after that, service lights it. Yes…I think that is what love is to a woman: a lantern in her hand.”

It was her dreams that enabled her to love and that love was what made all the difference. It enabled her to sacrifice, to be loyal, to create, to persevere, and to be uniquely herself. All things I want to be and do in my world, nearly two centuries later. I want to be understanding of the young dreamers living with stars in their eyes and I want to be compassionate towards the elders among us, with that distant look in their eyes as they relive the past over and over again. I want to hold that lantern in my hand so that when I am on my deathbed I can smile and slip away, enfolded in the memories of a life well lived.

Baby Girl

All week long your siblings have been anticipating your birthday and this morning one of your brothers woke up saying, “Mom! Today Tehillah is one!” This is just one tiny reflection of the adoration that is felt for you by every member of this household.

The 10.5 months leading up to your birth were a roller coaster. There were many health concerns ranging from me getting hit in the stomach with a swing to having COVID just a month and half before you were born. And your birth itself was not easy and took some time for me to process before moving on. All of this drifts through my mind as I look at you today on your birthday. And then I remember even more.

Gazing at you for the very first time and instantly knowing you were a girl; discovering you were born en caul (what a miracle for me!); relishing how we could already communicate with you during those first hours and days after birth because you studied our faces so closely; taking those days, weeks and months slowly because I finally grasped how rapidly they pass; not feeling guilty for snuggling with you in bed during those late night and early morning hours – right up until…well…I haven’t stopped, actually.

And then there’s that timeless process of growing acquainted with a brand new soul: observing you as you observe the world. I have savored everything from your first time seeing bubbles to the development of your unique interactions with each older sibling to learning that you don’t like to sit in grass to finding out that you prefer food with spice over bland food. You explore your surroundings with your fingertips and the tip of your tongue; so much so that your hands’ resting position is pointer fingertip touching thumb fingertip. Your presence has proven to me that no baby is a rote experience- even the seventh one in seven years.

Every time you snuggle your head into Poppa’s shoulder in your special way or shine your brightest smile at me and lift your arms to be picked up or sing and babble while you play with your little basket of toys or I am still able to slip your tiny feet into size 3-6 months shoes, I give God the highest praise for keeping His plan for our family filled with His wise surprises. These past 365 days with you in our family have been lovely.

Under the Influence

I started on Facebook about 20 years ago. A friend introduced me to it and helped me navigate the set up. I was excited because it felt like my entry into the popular world. I was always a little on the wallflower side growing up- clueless to what was trending. I found it fun to be able to connect and share my life with others and get instant feedback. Gradually I branched out from scrolling and posting to playing FarmVille, making and joining groups, using it as a business platform, making purchases, sharing and affirming beliefs and values, and then finally making the jump to Instagram about 5 years ago.

Instagram appealed to me because of its artistic side. It was fun to see what was trending in women’s fashions, home decor and baby products. I discovered small shops I liked and wanted to support. I developed a knack for turning photo posts into mini narratives about our life. I appreciated that Instagram was more informative and less political than Facebook had become.

Recently, however, a new thought crept into my mind: how much of my mind is my own? Unbeknownst to me I have begun to incorporate so much of what I see on social media into how I live; of course, everything aligns with our family values and convictions but it’s still been absorbed by me from social media. And so I pondered further. Is this what is happening to our society? Have we become “click happy” and “scroll addicted”? Can we think for ourselves or generate our own ideas without first viewing it on a screen?

I’ve begun to wonder if the present generation thinks life only happens if it’s been Facebook approved or influencer promoted. Meals are captioned; events are shared; products are modeled; current events are evaluated; parenting is taught; advice is given. And there is nothing inherently wrong with that unless we can no longer live our lives without doing it or worse, no longer think for ourselves. Social media users must be cognizant of the fact that much of what is on social media is propaganda and opinion but it is being embraced as gospel: it’s what everyone is doing…thinking…believing and so it must be right.

I see many productive uses for social media. I don’t plan to remove it from my life entirely. I think I am going to exercise restraint on how much I consume of it and balance my usage of it with reading books, listening to podcasts, and being quiet. My brain needs a chance to think critically, evaluate objectively and create its own perspectives. I want to know that I’m decorating my home according to my own taste and style; parenting according to my own intuition; living according to my personality- not because it’s trending on social media.

We are influenced every day by someone or something. Let’s be more aware of the influencers in our lives. Let’s practice thinking for ourselves and articulating fresh ideas.

Strength and Dignity

In Proverbs 31 we are told that “strength and dignity” should clothe a woman. I wonder what that looks like. Is it marching, clenched fist in the air, while spewing hatred and vulgarity towards those sacred, life-giving parts of our body? is it the denial of what sets us apart as a unique sex or the acceptance of propaganda that says anyone can be us? Is it hating who we are, trampling our femininity and mocking motherhood?

Or is it the embracing of life’s unexpected, unplanned and even impossible situations and making them our own?

Givers of the future

Some of my heroes are the pioneer women of Kansas. The hardships they endured could coin the term “Kansas strong.” For some reason, all things about my life that I thought were hard kind of evaporated as I read about them in PIONEER WOMEN: Voices from the Kansas Frontier. This pioneer daughter’s description of them sums it up well:

“[they] gave their youth, health, courage and the very best of their lives…at a cost no one will ever be able to reckon. There were no words of complaint; just a slow but steady advancement in the face of difficulties and obstacles that stagger one who considers them now. Surely not a star in Heaven will be too bright for the crowns of those brave women who, with lonely hearts and the dismal music of coyote calls, often watched the stars from humble homes, ‘out where the West begins.’”

What got the pioneer woman through when most people gave up and went home? A fierce determination to succeed and a sense of ownership. This wasn’t simply her husband’s dream she was living. It had become hers too and every hardship was seen as something that would only make her stronger. Some would say that this is exactly what women are fighting for today: bodily autonomy, ownership of their future, and equal opportunity in every situation. Yet as a woman myself, I don’t feel pride or camaraderie in these causes. In fact, I feel ashamed when I read the slogans and see female reproductive organs on public display. Womanhood has a sacred role in society but in this era it’s up for auction to the highest bidder and the loudest voice.

Life-giving

Sometimes I wonder what the women of history would think of our current events. Women like:

• Esther~confronted with a life she did not choose and yet she saved her people from being massacred
• Mary~a young girl faced with an unexpected pregnancy and yet she loved her Son even at the foot of His Cross.
• Grandma Moses~risked her life and lost so much for the sake of freedom. Even after she made it to safety she went back over and over again to rescue more people.
• Irena Sendler~risked her life and suffered torture and yet she didn’t stop saving hundreds, if not thousands, of Jewish children from certain death.
• Mother Theresa~who left everything comfortable and everyone she loved to minister to the most destitute, most unlovely people imaginable.

And then there are my heroes of today. Women like:

• My mom~who suffered atrocious abuse as a child but shunned being a victim and chose to own her story and live victoriously.
• My sister~ who fought and beat breast cancer. And even though it changed the course of her life in a way she wouldn’t have chosen, she has embraced her story and shares it with life-giving results.
• The ladies I serve with at our pregnancy resource center ~ who have abortions in their past and seek to lovingly show moms in similar situations that there are other options. They have turned their guilt and shame into instruments of life.
• My friends~ who have suffered abuse and are now moms living with joy and ensuring their children are happy and thriving. They are overcomers.
• My mom friends ~ who have large families. Exhaustion and little time alone are routine aspects of the day and yet they keep choosing joy. Their families get their best and one day will rise up and call them “blessed among women.”
• Those close to me~who routinely battle anxiety and depression and yet they refuse to be defined by these cruel afflictions. Every day they seek to live well and offer hope to those around them.

These are women who have been empowered by hardship. That is strength. These are women who have owned their story and share it with confidence and joy. That is dignity.

Listening to rants, seeing the rage, reading the propaganda and feeling the erosion, I often feel like I’m spinning in place trying to hold on long enough to make sense of anything. It’s the second part of that proverb that makes sense: “she laughs at the future.” The woman strong in her identity and dignified even in the throes of trial can look confidently ahead. She doesn’t have to change herself or find love in new places or slaughter new life or mock men to get ahead or be more. She embraces her story, hardship and all, makes it her own and becomes an anchor upon which future generations are built. That is empowered womanhood.

One Day

Yesterday evening we had some wonderful people join us for a summer bbq. This social event was crafted with our parents in mind; they routinely indulge our conversation topics or entertain the children. This particular evening was a unique change of pace and I enjoyed listening in on conversations that were filled with more than half of century of memories and life experiences.

These beautiful people swapped narratives of how they met, travels they embarked on, adventures in parenting, and conversations they’ve had with their grandchildren. They have reams of lessons learned to reflect upon and many health trials for which they’re making adjustments; they shared farewell accounts with their own parents and were able to rejoice together about the work God continues to do in making them more like Him. And it all got me to thinking…

One day I was born.

One day I was a child: playing, exploring, dreaming of being a big person.

One day I was a teenager: learning, working, becoming my own person, dreaming of being an adult.

One day I was an adult: working, socializing, dreaming of being a wife and mother.

One day I was a wife and mother: cooking, cleaning, teaching, raising, breathing, dreaming of quiet moments and slower days.

One day the quieter moments and slower days will come, along with the final good byes: as children leave the home, as parents end their journey on earth, as we take our turn in that concluding chapter of the human experience.

As stories of the past swirled around me, I was reminded me that time is sand slipping through our fingers. Children at the beach build every barrier their fingers can construct to trap the ocean on the shore, yet it always gets away. And so it is with life: we try desperately to construct the perfect day so that time will stand still, our loved ones will be with us forever and our favorite memories won’t fade. But then we look up and realize time waited for no one.

I suppose, then, the best way to live is one day at a time.

A Modern Conversation

Recently I was scrolling my newsfeed and was swept up in a post about teaching children openness and tolerance. The main point was that children need to understand that love is love and there is no place for judgement (unless someone is being unkind). It was an interesting discussion and I’ve been pondering it ever since; we are surrounded by trending lifestyle choices and I want our children to be well-adjusted, loving, kind human beings. Where do we go from here?

“Love is love.” “You do you.” These catch phrases sound so…well..catchy! Doesn’t it make us feel warm inside to know that we, as parents, are affirming of our children and encouraging them to be their truest selves? Don’t we want to model for them how to practice acceptance of everyone’s self-expression? Don’t we? What a free society we would have if everyone did this! I pondered these thoughts as I observed my youngsters living life.

They are each so unique in how they experience life: always ready to imagine and play. It’s a favorite pastime of mine to observe them play a cooperative game of their own design; the little ones just as involved as the older ones. Yes, I want them to be themselves, each with their individual perspective on living. But then the squabbling begins. Someone looked at someone else in a way they didn’t like; someone yanked a toy out of another one’s hand; two want to ride on the same bike at the same time; someone bumped someone else and they’re convinced it was on purpose. And then the yelling and biting and hair pulling and screeching and name-calling begins. Hmmm…you do you, huh? Which side of my children is the “you do you” I want them to do?

Obviously we want to cultivate kindness and courtesy within our young ones. This is often defined as loving our neighbors as ourselves and putting the interests of others before our own. Unless one of us is a second Mary, there isn’t a single child who desires to be selfless around the clock; in a nutshell, our society is telling parents to say “you do you until it makes someone else unhappy.” If we know anything about children, it is that they revolt against mixed messages and thrive with consistency. Which brings me to the second mantra of our time: love is love.

For this discussion I propose that an aspect of love is establishing and maintaining boundaries; definitions in their very nature are boundaries. Let’s take a moment to define love. Is it romance? Making someone happy? All the warm fuzzies? Not giving offense or stepping on toes? Or is it being willing to say no, to speak truth, to take risks? I think we would all agree that love would be preventing a child from running into oncoming traffic or grabbing someone from falling to certain death. We wouldn’t hesitate to stand between our child and a bully or track down a child predator stalking our young ones. Does the same loving vigilance step up to the plate when it’s parents versus trending ideologies?

Wokeness. Cancel culture. Gender. Disney agendas. These topics are dominating headlines and are targeting families everywhere. They are so extreme that it almost feels bizarre to legitimately discuss them. And yet we must. For love’s sake we must identify the boundaries they are determined to remove. Boundaries provide direction and protection. When there is a wild fire, burn lines are made to keep the fire from devouring everything in sight; sand bags can prevent rivers from overflowing their banks during a storm; fences distinguish one person’s property line from another. Proverbs 22:28 declares, “Do not move the ancient boundary which your fathers have set,” yet in our land boundaries of old are being removed: definitions of marriage, biological sex, and personhood are being erased and rewritten.

Boundaries are only relevant if they hold firm against assault; they are pointless if they disintegrate under the slightest pressure. If ever the ancient boundary stone is being attacked, it is now. Will our love for our children be strong enough to repair, rebuild and restore what has previously stood the test of time and yet now is crumbling? In his eloquently probing book Gentle and Lowly, Dane Ortlund asks, “What’s the meaning of everything? What’s the aim…for our small, ordinary lives?” He goes on to describe the fulfillment that comes from living to glorify God and observes “[h]ow exhausting is the misery of self. How energizing are the joys of living for another.” Perhaps the best way to affirm and advise our young ones is to point them to their higher purpose: to glorify God and enjoy Him forever. May they live Christ and love with His heart forever.

Mothers, Arise!

I am sure we are all aware of the most recent tragedy that claimed so many lives. My mind, like my fellow citizens’, spun with questions: “Why?” “How?” “What’s next?” “Who?” “Could this have been stopped?” “What can we do to prevent this?” And there are no easy answers. My heart is filled with sorrow, rage and disgust over the senseless brutality in our world. I want to do something about it.

And we can! Each of us has a part to play in preserving our society but today I write to mothers. By doing just a few simple things we can bring hope and security to our community. Here are things we can do:

Be mothers who think: I just finished reading a book by J.P Moreland about cultivating a thinking mind through reading, writing and intentional discussion. Mama Bear Apologetics and their resources are a good place to start for mothers wanting to be informed about the worldviews active in our present age. To effect change, we must know what we believe, why we believe it and how to talk about our beliefs in a calm, coherent way. Our children are listening.

Be mothers who are present: the to-do lists don’t ever get done; the calendar is never empty; the distractions don’t go away; we can always be busy. But our children need mamas who can be deliberately undistracted. It doesn’t mean sitting and staring at our children all day (trust me, I wrestle with this one!); it does mean being able to push pause on the list, carve out still times on the calendar, and put away the phone so that we can be all ears, eyes and heart for our family. Our children are watching.

Be mothers who can be at home: I believe that home is where community begins. Home is a place where people can feel safe, be welcomed, experience traditions and be themselves. It’s the window with the light on in a dark world; it’s the smell of baking bread and peppermint tea on a stormy night; it’s the sound of lullabies as little children drift to sleep. There’s always a need to be on the road but in all of the hurry, take time to make home a place you want to be. Our children need rest.

Be mothers who love our neighbors: Jesus said to love our neighbors as ourselves. While we all know He meant everybody, I think this principle can apply to the people who live next door to us or across the street. Some of our family’s closest friends have been our neighbors and it all started from my mom teaching me the importance of getting to know the people who kind of live life right along with us. Community begins on our very own street so, if you can, wave, bring over cookies, throw that Fourth of July party and work out those differences with your neighbors. Our children will model us.

Be mothers who laugh: life is hard. In fact, it’s more dependably hard than it is fun or easy. But if we can learn to laugh even when it’s difficult, our lives will be much lighter. Find the good, hold on to the joy, and delight in your family. Your children will laugh with you.

Be mothers who fight: there is too much going wrong in this world for us to continue as we are. It’s time for us to make a determined and drastic change; we need to be a presence, a force worth reckoning with, in communities. When we see evil building a stronghold, let’s tear it down! When we see our children being preyed upon, let’s rescue them! When we see our men being belittled, let’s stand beside them! When we fight for what we love, it’s a noble fight. Our children will thank us.

Mothers, we are representatives of life. Home and community begin with us. It is time for us to remember that it is no small thing to be a mother: it is not a hobby or a trial run or a side gig. If the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world, we must make sure it is a mother’s hand. Mothers, arise!

Three for the Fifth Time

I am wondering if you are the most celebrated little boy so far. This entire month your birthday has been mentioned and I really think your siblings are more excited than you are about your special day. The attention and enthusiasm are not wasted on you; you fit perfectly into your spot in the family.

There is something about you that causes people to gravitate to you. Maybe it’s your small stature topped with a head that is proportionally larger than your stout body; maybe it’s your expressive eyes that speak before your mouth does; it might be the way you move that fascinates: wisps of hair bouncing as you run, the efficient way you climb, the delight you have in spinning till you fall down. When you move, all of you moves simultaneously because you’re so compact. Remember when we went to the ranch for Shilo’s birthday and the riding instructor wouldn’t put you down? Haha! Like I said, there’s just something about you.

As much as I love watching you, I love chatting with you as well. Your two top teeth pucker just enough to give you a little lisp. There’s a little whistle that enhances any “sh” words you say. And your style of speaking has been adopted by some of us because it’s priceless. We like to “snell” roses and count from “2-5-8-9” just like you do. We put on our “sim soups” [swim suit] and ask if you want to wear your “puu pup” [pull up] or underwear today. And we never tire of hearing you ask, “Can I sleep in yours room?” Yet for being so small and adorable, you definitely have a fiery side.

Your most recent cognitive growth spurt brought astounding verbal skills. The sentences which flow from your tongue keep all of us on our toes; no one dares exclude you from any plan or activity for fear of encountering your wrath. An upset Simeon is a Simeon to behold!! But just as fiery as you can be, you are equally gentle, cuddly and endearing. Quinley is your favorite sibling, someone for whom you would fetch the moon. And when you sense that Mama is upset you turn on the best Simeon charm: “Mama, youze usset wis me? Are you happy to me? I love you, Mom.” And this is followed by the best hugs.

Your mind is filled with big thoughts and big ideas. You are a speed demon on the little blue balance bike passed down from your biggest brother. When you are on that bike it becomes an extension of you. “Grayjuns” [dragons], “sharyks” [sharks], lions, and horses are some of your favorite animals. Jumping and climbing and running with the big boys are simply part of your day. You are as diligent as you can be in school- putting together puzzles, “writing” as small as you can (you’re our only leftie so far), and “reading” books. Teaching you is a precious time for me.

Last night, you and I snuggled together- chatting and reading books. Since the birthday child gets to sleep in Poppa and Mama’s room on the eve of their birthday, that’s where you are as I pen this- snoozing in the very spot of your birth. It feels like I held you for the first time, breathed deeply, and now you are three years old. I’d be lying if I said that fact didn’t make my eyes misty just thinking about it. In all honesty, it makes me afraid to breathe.

I love you more, Little Man!

Weaving

It’s funny the things I remember about my childhood: the color and texture of the tile on the kitchen floor because we played marbles on it; the sound of dial-up Internet; the magnetic stand to hold my speed-typing lists; the crevices in our moss rock wall where I hunted for gecko eggs; the huge caterpillars I peeled off the oleander leaves for pocket money; running through sprinklers on freshly mown grass. These memories, and others, will randomly pop into my day, reminding me that what is woven into our childhood stays with us forever.

Tonight I pulled out my third tooth as a mama. For some reason, this particular tooth turned me into mush. Just seeing my son’s innocent freckled face staring up at me, more courageous than me in that moment, I had flashbacks of those little teeth coming in just…yesterday, right? His sisters had the privilege of being audience and they did plenty of commenting the entire time and gave the pulled out tooth all the adoring attention it could have wanted. The younger sister realized, “GH! You won’t be able to brush your teeth anymore! He will just have to use those tooth wipes, right Mom?” After we had said goodnight, I watched him walk to his room. Tears welled as I saw him so grown up and yet such a little boy. So quickly he will be a man. Which begs the question: what am I weaving into the childhoods happening right now?

My tendency is to have a list and plow through it or to have a goal and drive straight for it- regardless of anyone or anything else. This can cause quite the mayhem since little people don’t understand to-do lists. At the end of the day I want to reflect not just on what was accomplished but also on what happened. Did the stories get read? Did we play together? My memories have shown me that living occurs when we least expect it; therefore it is necessary to weave in the work with the play, the discipline with the instruction, the pauses with the academics, the spontaneous with the routine. Tonight’s tooth-pulling event was such an extraordinary normal childhood moment: siblings, dental floss, standing in the kitchen. And yet now it’s woven into my heart along with all the flashbacks of my firstborn’s infancy and toddling steps. On a daily basis I need to freeze time for just a second or two and show my family that I love them and enjoy them.

Is Life Actually Good?

“Life is good,” we like to say as our toes stretch out over sparkling pool water or we lounge in the sun with an ice cold drink in hand. I tend to think that statement when all my ducks (or should we say ducklings 😉) are in a row, the house is tidy and the bread turned out well this time. Sometimes I think it when we are taking a family day trip and everyone is chatting cheerfully with our favorite music playing in the background. I always define life as good when I’m feeling good. But is it?

What about the fact that at the very same time I’m snuggling with my babies, someone else is grieving about her empty arms? And when I’ve had a delightful chat with my parents someone else is laying flowers on the grave of her mom? And when I’m cleaning my house and baking bread someone else is battling with depression that threatens to keep her in bed all day? And when I’m laughing with my husband someone else is cowering in fear of hers? And when my children devour books someone else is setting up yet another IEP meeting with her child’s teacher? And when I step out my front door to enjoy a walk someone else is hiding from bombs? Do we call this a good life?

Does this juxtaposition of life situations mean that one isn’t true? I was pondering this and went a little deeper: when things are not going my way can I still say life is good? These questions can only be answered by defining good. If good means everything is going my way and I’m thriving, then life is rarely good. In fact, it’s uncertain, unpredictable and unfair. But if good means that I am encountering the sovereignty of God and living out His purpose for my life, then yes, life is good. But doesn’t it seem callous to compare my level of circumstantial difficulties with someone whose daily objective is survival in the literal sense; my hardest moments might even seem good to them.

For those who are members of the household of faith, we can immerse ourselves in Hebrews 11-12. In these passages we are reminded that hardship can be viewed as discipline (not punishment), preparing us for greater joy and peace. The trials strengthen our faith and allow us deeper fellowship with those who have gone before. For those who do not yet know Christ, hardship beckons their eyes heavenward; it serves as a reminder that there must be something more when rock bottom is hit; only God can rescue, redeem and restore.

I am sure this might sound trite at best, cruel at worst. How self-righteous is it for me in western comfort to tell someone in a refugee camp that God is sovereign and their suffering is bringing Him glory or to tell a grieving mom that her loss is meant to teach her more about God? These statements might very well be true in a basic sense but they do not convey Christ’s heart- a heart whose essence is compassion. Jesus describes Himself as gentle and lowly; He longs to comfort the broken-hearted and set the captive free. In our lowest moments, He is there; on our mountaintop victories, He is there.

The concept that we are designed to glorify God and enjoy Him forever is the best definition of good. It provides meaning in the worst of times and exhilaration in the best of times. My goal is to declare that “Life is good because God is good” regardless of the situation.

Little Boys

We have 3 little boys right in a row. I’m tempted to just stop right there and allow your imaginations to fill in the rest: all of the sounds, smells, catastrophes, and injuries that come with 3 little boys in a row.

It is hard for a mama to remain a step ahead of them to preempt what they’re going to think of next because they usually think of it first. I don’t think of using my head as a battering ram as something fun to do. Jumping from the highest point in the house seems, well, risky to me. I don’t have the same magnetic draw to sharp objects as they do. I think being clean and tidy is VERY nice. Bugs are cool to watch but touching them isn’t my first (or even fourth) instinct and I would NEVER dream of scooping up a cockroach and letting it crawl up my shoulder. I like to preserve my new things so they look new a dozen years later rather than finding out how much force they can withstand before crumbling. I prefer to think about eating yummy items while they like to gross themselves out by naming awful items they won’t eat (think poop). I find quiet a pleasant sound; to them, louder is better!

These three little guys are so different from our first son that I’m still getting over the shock and awe they’ve brought into our home. I catch myself saying, “but GH never did that!” I’m having to learn all new parenting tactics and strategies with these guys and have brand new callouses on my proverbial knees with their names on them. And with those tear-streaked prayers have come some fresh thoughts:

• Little boys need mamas. When I’m done counting the bruises on my own body at the end of a day wrestling with my strong toddlers, I wonder why God gave boys to mamas. My husband can carry two of them at once and throw them over his shoulder with one arm. They tackle him with all their might (which would topple me) and he is unfazed. It’s soooooooo easy to see they need him but do they really need me?? They do. There are times when I have to bellow at them but I’m trying to make that my last resort; instead, I’m seeking to be their contrast: calm, quiet, tender, clean. I’m not trying to make them feminine (I’m actually quite proud of their strength and fearlessness); I do see the necessity in bringing culture to the savage and showing the brute how to be a gentleman. Society expects danger and destruction from men; I believe moms can bring out the noble tenderness in their sons.
• Little boys need to know their mamas like them. Much of my day is spent in doing damage control. More than once a little man has asked, “you usset, Mama?” Or sensed trouble ahead and rushed to hug me with an “I love you, Mama.” While I’m all about these little men respecting us and living within the boundaries we have set, I want them to know that I think they are the coolest people alive. I must discern between blatant disobedience and mishaps that occur simply because they are inquisitive little boys. I’ve observed that nothing lights up their darling faces more than when they’re able to make me laugh till I cry. And there is a certain swag in their step when I speak with awe about the things they do that I certainly cannot- like pick up live roaches with my bare fingers or rescue geckos from drowning. At bedtime I make sure to say, “I love you and I like you”- not because they’re finally clean, sweet-smelling and still but because they are themselves and they are my little boys.
• Little boys need mamas to be their advocates. As I mentioned above, society doesn’t look too kindly upon men and therefore boys are often written off as troublemakers and future problems. Mamas can unintentionally speak the same message through sighs of exasperation and speaking about the low expectations they have for their sons. I speak from experience; at times it is very challenging to find something to praise at the end of a long day of messes, fighting, and repeated instructions. But praying instead of pulling out my hair is helping me break the code for mothering these little boys. I see now that they need me to advocate for them- even to themselves. I need to speak to them about the good they can do and the great men I see them becoming. And I need to build them up when we are in the company of others.

Practically speaking, how is this building up accomplished? Time with them: playing, teaching, snuggling, talking. It’s in doing these things that I see deeper into the essence of who they are and what makes their hearts beat boldly. And one of our favorite things to do as mama and sons is to recount memories of them as babies. It reminds all of us of those precious moments we have shared together from the very beginning. As I persevere through the difficulties of mothering boys, I see the privilege of and adventure that comes with raising men. I have always liked the thought of being a mama bear and how I am ever ready to take on anyone and anything that threatens my young ones; now I see that I need the resilience and strength of a mama bear to handle all that these young boys bring into my day. And there’s so much good that comes with them: the flowers, the fervor, the crazy stories and that priceless loyalty that sons hold for their mama.

Just a handful of nights ago, I slipped into their room and gazed upon their sleeping faces. Unexpectedly I got glimpses of those faces at 15, then 40, then 80 years old. Tears filled my eyes at the thought that one day they won’t be little boys anymore and how I raise them now will have a strong influence on who they will be then.

Books We Are Reading

I’m a day late with my monthly reading recap but I needed some time to think about this one. I decided I wanted to share what the children are reading but that’s trickier since so many pages are turned by them!

Our oldest has a tower of books on his dresser but he isn’t only reading from them. He often still grabs from the bookshelves too. He just finished reading: Sequoyah: A Cherokee Indian. One of his favorites is Adventure in the Big Thicket and not long ago he completed The Secret Garden (that might have been in March, actually). He is also liking Beverly Cleary’s books and The Rats of Nimh; he is nearly finished with a compilation of Nancy Drew stories as well. And that’s off the top of my head. This 7-year old has books stashed everywhere! He and I are reading The Wind in the Willows together.

Our second born is savoring Pollyanna. She also read Mountain Born and wants to read A Place for Peter next. She spends a lot of time reading picture books and her Bible. She and I are reading Hitty together.

Our second daughter and I are reading Charlotte’s Web together. She looks for words she knows in the picture books she looks at. All of us are reading Heidi together and have almost finished The Chronicles of Narnia on audiobook. We like sampling poetry from A Rocket in my Pocket and are reading a Nate Saint biography in history.

Again, those are the regulars during our week. We also read dozens of picture books and listen to portions of other audiobooks when we are eating lunch or driving. What books did your family read in April?

Life in Layers

I plan. I like to see my life neatly outlined in those boxes- every line filled in tidy handwriting with different colors of ink. If my planner has extra space I use it to make lists of things I hope to do daily or within the week or for sure that month. I do hourly planning, daily planning, weekly planning, monthly planning, lesson planning and menu planning. I guess you could say I’m a macro and micro planner. It’s not that I’m afraid of the unexpected; it’s just that I am afraid of wasting time or missing opportunities because I didn’t plan well enough.

The irony is that it’s just short of a miracle for life to go as planned in my home. We have such a mixture of ages and stages, not to mention personalities (and pets and plants), and few of them consult my careful planning before throwing their wrenches. Just the other evening, after serenely mapping out how I would orchestrate bedtime to allow for some quiet personal time for me, I was confronted with a plant knocked over and potting soil scattered all across the room, then someone peed on the kitchen floor and then I discovered soiled bedsheets on two beds. In all the hustle and bustle, fluster and frenzy, and all the Plan C’s stepping aside for Plans M-Z, I often wonder if I’m getting anywhere. In an effort to meticulously steward my time, am I actually wasting it?

I am grounded by the concept of layers. I don’t remember exactly when it came to me- perhaps when I was a focused college student or a more grounded teacher or maybe as a mom figuring things out- but it has become a calming mantra in my ever-active brain. And here it is: a little at a time for a long time makes the difference. I have seen it at work with the children. As much as I want to do all the good things with them all the time it’s simply impossible. But if we do one or two things throughout the day or the week, we are still doing good things.

One thing we have started is bedtime memory verses. Every Sunday the children all pick verses to learn that week. We practice them when I’m tucking them into bed at night. It provides a little more individual time and they have God’s word on their mind as they fall asleep. But sometimes we don’t get to the verses because it was a late night or a harried night- and I remind myself: “Layers. We are still doing a little at a time for a long time.”

Something we have been doing for the past 5 years is Family Song. Every month we learn a new hymn together and we sing it every day. Sometimes we don’t get to it or sometimes some don’t want to sing. Rather than get too frustrated I remind myself: “Layers. We are still doing a little at time for a long time.” And that’s how it goes- whether it’s popcorn by candlelight or making a magic cupboard together or birthday stockings or quiet reading times- the traditions, the memories, the relationships are built in layers.

That is also how it is for me as a person and a maturing Christian. I’ll have an epiphany or the proverbial lightbulb will turn on and I’ll start to think I’ve finally arrived in at least one area of my life. And then reality reminds me I still have a long way to go. Of course I’ll first shed some tears but then I wrap myself up in that comforting thought: “Layers. I’m still doing a little at a time for a long time.”

My dear readers, whether you’re an exhausted parent or an overwhelmed college student or a struggling Christian, or simply a human living day to day, I hope you can find encouragement in knowing that life happens in layers.

Gloss

One of the stickier parts of parenting small children is discerning when to tell them about the darker side of life. Sometimes the harsh realities do the teaching: the smashed opossum in the middle of the road, for instance, or the passing of a dear friend and neighbor. Other things happen organically- they overhear conversations about current events, read books or encounter difficult passages in the Bible. But sometimes we have to do a sit down conversation in order to prepare them for the awful things we hope will never happen: a fire in the house, or a robbery, or a kidnapping. Having to tell them that things like that are possibilities feels like a wrongdoing in and of itself. It’s marring their serene existence and robbing them of some of their innocence. Yet it must be done in a fallen world.

I think that our western society is trying to live in a fantasy world. It’s human nature to desire comfort but we have taken it to the extreme. We can have all apparent needs met by the mere touch of a screen; we can build our own virtual worlds; and we can customize everything to our own unique preferences. We rarely have to say no to ourselves. The problem with this amazing system is that it allows us to pretend that evil doesn’t exist even though it is on a rampage just outside our door. We use big, sterile words that mask what really happens or we assume someone else will take care of it; we see lives fit into an Insta-square or summed up in a 10 second story and we tell ourselves they’re ok; we click on the angry emoji for the bad news that’s shared and feel like we have done our part. But have we REALLY. DONE. SOMETHING?

I understand how overwhelming it is to see evil for what it is. It is much easier to quickly acknowledge it’s there and then resume living in our happy places. Besides, what can we really do anyway? Our own daily problems demand every ounce of energy we have; we don’t have surplus to spare on world problems, right? Perhaps if we listed some of those big, sterile words and then defined them we would see things a bit differently. Read this list and force yourself to see the actions summed up in the word:

• Abortion
• Trafficking
• Betrayal
• Lies
• Abuse
• Exploitation
• Scheming
• Slander
• Rape
• Murder

All of these and more fall under that neat little word called sin. It’s the perfect gloss for the depravity of human nature. We can nod and admit we have sin in our life and then resume our merry way. But is that what we are supposed to do? With today being Good Friday, this is the ideal time to consider the example of Jesus. He had no sin but during His earthly journey He confronted sin in its most raw form and in the end became sin for our sakes. Let us live as He did: let us remove the gloss, confront the vileness in and around our lives, love our neighbor to the point of sacrifice and, with Christ’s help, change the world- one rescued soul at a time.

Focus

Very recently I was driving in a rain storm. My wipers were working as hard as they could and every other second I had a clear view of the car’s lights in front of me. The other second it was all a blur mixed with mini waterfalls streaming down my windshield. I sat up as straight as I could with my entire focus on the lights ahead. It was disconcerting whenever I couldn’t see clearly.

Life is that way. Forever swirling through my mind are the must-do’s, should-do’s, and wish-I-could-do’s. I am aware of social expectations and societal pressures. I observe my good motives turn sour as selfishness creeps in or my acts of service become tainted with pride. In the midst of the driving intensity of life, it is easy to panic.

But then I see Christ. At times the clarity of His closeness is second to none- the only thing between us is my humanity. But those moments are fleeting. Most of the time I have faith that He is there because memories of His faithfulness testify to that fact. I see flashes of His goodness like taillights in a storm: indistinct in the swirling rain but guiding lights just the same.

Ironically, as we mature in our faith we will become more adept at recalling His goodness; in doing so His presence becomes more tangible and our faith less shaken in the intensity of uncertainty. And that is my prayer for this season: that when everything in me wants to slow down and only move forward in inches, I will fix my focus on Jesus and allow Him to guide me deftly through the rain.

Exceptional

Dear Son,

It seems like everything about you has been off the charts since your birth. Yours was my first pregnancy to go to nearly 42 weeks; yours was our first home birth; and you grew and grew and grew until at one point you were in size 7 diapers (I had to search hard for those)! Now, as a brand new 4 year old you wear a size 11 shoe, are wearing 5T clothing and come to your brother’s shoulder (and he is 3 years older than you)!

But it’s not simply your rapid growth rate that astounds us. There’s something about your mind that intrigues us. Your fingers are never still as you explore the textures of anything within your reach. You want to know what the buttons and switches do; and no screw anywhere is safe- sooner or later we will find it somewhere else. The same is true for my kitchen gadgets and Poppa’s tools- under your pillow is often where we can find missing items. While this can be exasperating we know it’s a sign of a sharp mind at work.

I have also witnessed your unique thought process in how you show initiative. You will jump up from the table mid-meal to put something away or to grab something you think we need for the meal that I hadn’t planned on setting out. My reflex is to scold you for leaving the table without permission or to get irritated by the extra items on an already loaded table; but I’m learning to swallow the scoldings and ask questions to find out what you were thinking. It often makes a lot of sense when I see it from your perspective.

I’m seeing that you are an intentional person. Very little is done on a whim. You have usually thought it through and in your mind it’s a purposeful action. You ponder words and soak in the words I use, such as ‘gorgeous,’ ‘beautiful,’ and ‘frustrated’. One such moment stands out to me in particular. I had taken the time to explain to you that you are an important part of our family: when you are kind and obedient our home is a peaceful, happy place but when you are mean or disobedient our home becomes upset and sad. Not too long afterwards you repeated that thought and told me that you are important and when you obey our home is a happy place.

Recently, after praying for wisdom on how to best parent you I was inspired by the thought that investing in you is a worthy investment. One day you are going to be an incredible man; the sweat and tears and the moments that leave me speechless that come with being your mama are all counting towards the stature of your character as a man. Even now I catch glimpses of that when I invite you to help me with something, knowing that it will take two or three times as long to complete because of all the reminders to not touch or fiddle with something without permission. There is a light in your eyes and profuse joy in your soul when we work together. For example, last night you helped with Baby Sister’s bath and were in the process of putting away the shampoo before I had even used it. I reminded you I still needed it and as you brought it back you said, “I love you, Mama!”

Being your Mama is absolutely worth it. There is no one quite like you, Son. You’re exceptional.

Touching the Sky

It was a Mary Poppins kind of windy day. The wind wrestled with me and my umbrella and tossed down a carpet of leaves on our road. When we saw our neighbors headed to the nearby grassy field with their kite, we were inspired to follow with ours.

Kite-flying was new to me and I assumed that, just like in Mary Poppins, you toss the kite into the air and it soars. Haha! In the midst of tangled string and ribbons, I realized that kite-flying is a negotiating process with the wind. You let your kite go once the wind agrees to play and then you are continuously steering by winding and unwinding the string until it soars.

Just before we had to go in to tend to hungry bellies, we got our kite to soar. Wow! What a thrill! I really felt like I was touching the sky as I guided from earth something in the air. Gazing at that butterfly kite soaring above my head, I recalled an earlier discussion I had had with my husband. We noted the instant age we live in and how it influences our reasoning. We try something and if there isn’t an immediate result we try something else and so on and so forth.

I’ve noticed this tendency in my parenting: I try a new method or strategy and if I don’t immediately get the response I want, I go back to the books and try a new strategy. I’ve noticed this in how I relate to my own person: if I have a breakthrough in understanding a tendency in my character I assume I’ll immediately improve and never have to deal with that issue again; but if I repeat old habits I get frustrated and am quick to throw in the towel. Ha! I even found myself checking to see if our seeds had sprouted 3 days after we had planted them.

Before the microwave era, humans knew that life takes time. Farmers rolled with the seasons; hunters took days to track their prey; mothers made clothes by hand, washed them by hand, and made all their food from scratch. Instant wasn’t an option. Now? Now it feels like if it’s not instant then something is wrong. But I’m trying to shift my perspective these days.

There are times when I discipline calmly; the children all get along; memory verses are shared and songs are sung; we have the perfect balance of work and play. And then there are times when I’m impatient; there’s continual bickering; we can’t stay on track if it’s the last thing we do and no one wants to sit still for Bible time or meals. Does one type of day negate the other? No, both are real and both will be repeated. We must persevere because that’s how life is truly experienced. You see, there are times when the string is all tangled and there are times when you touch the sky.

For One Moment

It’s about 3:34pm. I have my timer set for 30 minutes of stillness. The three littlest boys are finally asleep while the oldest 3 children are playing relatively amiably outside. The baby was asleep but her tiny eyelids flew open when I attempted to slip out my door to remind the outside explorers to stay outside rather than running in and out to fetch all those last minute things they forgot. Thankfully she is occupying herself with her hands and I am hoping for just one moment of quiet.

It’s been a day…or week, rather. We all know that you can’t trust social media for accurate assessments of a person’s life, nor can you really take an “it’s all good” statement literally. Dig a little deeper and I’m sure you’ll learn that a mom has spent some moments drying lots of tears, many of them her own. That’s been true for me.

Life is good but it’s also hard. Take a look at today: our 3 youngest have been hit hard with pink eye and they feel miserable. It’s been raining for a few days and I want them to play outside but that involves extra mess. Mess=clean up=more time. And my dishes and laundry and general clutter are all piling up as I devote more time to making sure the sick ones get the extra TLC they need and that school gets done. Since my routine is a little different it’s harder for the children to stick with theirs and I wonder if I should be insistent on them getting their tasks done or roll with it and let them play (I actually ponder this every day). But work delayed doubles tomorrow’s tasks and while I know that, they’re still learning that principe which means more energy I’ll need to expend in teaching that lesson. And so my mind spins with all the weighing of possible outcomes of every single decision that must be made each day; there’s rarely any decision that’s easy to make since there are so many moving parts in a family our size.

Well, my timer has rung and after sharing a peek of my stream of consciousness with you, I feel a little more revived. The baby went back to sleep and the house is quiet. A friend is dropping off dinner soon (I’m thankful!!) and…the dog just barked…and the baby is crying…my one moment is over. But before I leave you to begin the next part of my day I want to say that, upon further pondering, it really is all good for oh! the stories I could tell!

I Don’t Have It All Together…

Birthdays draw me into deeper reflection about the past and the present. This past year something in me changed- or perhaps it was a gradual change that I only noticed this past year. But the timing doesn’t matter; what does matter is that I’m more aware of how time is passing.

On the eve of my birthday I met my face in the mirror and glimpses my 13-year old self. In an instant memories flashed through my brain from that year- memories of thoughts, memories of emotions and memories of experiences. “I still remember you,” I said to my 13-year old self. “And now here you are: a wife, a mom of 7, a friend to many lovely people…well, what do you think? Do you like who you are?” How is it possible to so clearly remember being more than two decades younger? When did those years happen?

And then I look at the people around me and I see that time has not overlooked them either. They are no longer the memories I have of them- they are older or taller or more accomplished or more fragile. And I realize that I cannot spend this life dwelling on mistakes, mine or theirs. There are a myriad of instances from yesterday and over the past decades that I regret. And there are almost as many of which I am satisfied. Of the two options, I want to focus on the latter.

The birthday conclusion I’ve come to is that the nuances of living are happening outside of my line of vision. I might think I know the bigger picture but really, I don’t; after all, I can’t begin to tell you how I spent each minute of the past 8,760 days. And because of this I am thankful that while I don’t have it all together, God does. He faithfully works in the moments between the moments: molding, shaping, guiding, nudging, protecting. He takes my misspoken words, my fumbling fingers, my stumbling toes and my countless face plants and shines His glory through them. He knows exactly how the finished product of my existence will look like and He will accomplish it.

I’m not saying I am going to live flippantly in my new year, not at all. But I am going to live more gently by understanding that every day we each learn a little more about ourselves that we didn’t know before. And I’m going to live less fearfully by remembering that God made me to be me and my place in this world is important and unique.

Read and Then Read Some More

With February being such a short month, I haven’t begun any new books. I plan to start two new ones and you’ll find out more about them in March. Therefore, for my (slightly belated) nnbnmonthly reading post, I want to share the significance of reading for the human mind and how I have seen that at work in me and my children.

We all know that books take us places and introduce us to worlds we can never physically visit. We also know that they introduce us to concepts and ideas we might not have considered on our own initiative. But have we recognized that reading can add depth and dimension to our ordinary days and, for lack of better terms, multiply our time?

The other day we were driving and the children had brought stacks of books with them for the ride. I heard some giggling coming from the very back of the van and one sibling asked, “what happened?” The giggler proceeded to share a funny antic of Jemima Puddleduck and the inquirer joined in the laughter: “oh yeah!! Jemima!” I continued my listening and then heard my oldest say, “ok, I’m done with this one. Here A, pass it to Shi when you’re done with it. Shi, pass it to Q after that.” “Ok!” Was the answer as books started floating back and forth over heads in the van. I smiled to myself; these stories had come to life to them.

Throughout our day the children will come up and start talking to me about the plots, characters and crises in the books they are reading. They will re-enact the adventures and model their own after the literary ones. And best of all, they are introduced to experiences and worlds that would otherwise be untouched by them. Where else could they become well acquainted with hundreds of unique personalities and be presented with countless situations where their reasoning skills must be challenged? And when we read together we share in these literary memories and adventures together and reflect on them together- all in the course of one day!

Personally, I would live in school if I could. I thrive in the academic environment and I’ve been known to say, “if I could get another degree it would be in…” But that’s for another season of life so I read instead. I long to time travel and since that’s not feasible I read instead. There are places in the world where I still want to visit and until I do I read. And all of this can happen through one book or in one day, depending on how many books in which I read in one day.

If you are reading this blog, you’re probably already a reader- fantastic! If you’re not so much of a reader- grab a book and dive in. If you are a parent, let your children see you reading even if they are not reading yet themselves. Talk about when they do begin to read and set books out for them to look during reading time. Point to words while you read to them and ask them what they think the word says. These things will make reading more natural to them. In our busy world, let’s set aside time to read.

Toddlers and Human Nature

We have been blessed with toddlers in our home for 6 years in a row. Yes, it is all the loud and messy and unpredictable that you imagine it to be when you hear the word, ‘toddler.’ We have had the toys dropped in the toilet, the cat litter sampled, the poop painting, the tantrums in public, the biting, the nap strikes, and the 24/7 teething terrors. I think by this time we qualify for a “we survived” medal of some sort.

One thing that makes these years quite fascinating to me is how this stage is truly human nature in its rawest form. Toddlers don’t have filters. They are impulse driven and egocentric: it’s all about what feels good in the moment. You’re in my way? No worries- I’ll just shove, bite or hit my way through. I didn’t get what I wanted? No worries- I’ll just scream and throw things and kick my legs to show I feel. You have what I want? No worries- I’ll just yank it out of your hands. Toddlers don’t ask; they take. Toddlers don’t recognize personal space; they climb on you, pull on you, trip you up by clinging to your legs. Toddlers don’t preserve things; they figure out the most efficient way to destroy them. Toddlers don’t listen; they try to be the loudest being in the room.

We all have that inner toddler, don’t we? Any semblance of virtue isn’t there naturally. It’s not our virtuous tendencies we worry about, is it? It’s the toddler ones. We never say, “oops! I just spoke without thinking and said too many kind words” or “I just hugged that person without thinking. My bad.” It’s the opposite: “my temper got the better of me again” or “I shouldn’t have slammed the door in anger” or “I was a little too harsh when I shared my feelings.” It might sound funny to read, but we all know the mayhem that we leave in the wake of our toddler rampages.

So, just like toddlers need consistent training and boundaries, we do too. We need to keep coming back to the Bible, seeking out stillness and faithfully surrendering our will to God’s. Amazingly, He never stops loving us in the midst of our tantrums and mess and mishaps. Huh? That sounds familiar. I can’t help but keep adoring my toddlers, hugging them tight, laughing at their craziness and finding them the most beautiful and fascinating little beings in the world- especially when they’re asleep.

If Valentine’s Day is About Love…

We had a little party planned for today, the children and I. Over the weekend we baked treats and outlined what we were going to do once school and chores were finished. But then things went awry.

There were misunderstandings and grumpiness and some meanness added to the fray. It was a domino effect and hopes for a party were fading fast. I found some quiet spots to pray and calm my frazzled nerves because I could tell my self-control was fading fast. And during that time I saw that my little ones were struggling just as I was. This was a time to show love through forgiveness and persevering in spite of the fatigue and the splitting headache and the ringing ears.

With a deep breath I reentered the tumult. I taped the torn game board and had a good talk with the most upset child. We began our party games and had so much fun. Eventually, the upset child joined in with a more settled spirit. We ate our treats outside and one of the little boys couldn’t find a place to sit. Our oldest spoke up: “If Valentine’s Day is about love, then I’m going to give him my seat.” And he did.

This Valentine’s Day may not have been all chocolates and hearts and warm, fuzzy feelings but I do think we all experienced a deeper definition of love. We saw firsthand that true love sticks it out when it’s hard, forgives and then has fun together again.

Resume

I am reading the book of Ezra as part of my refreshed devotions for the new year. I find the intricacies of rebuilding the temple fascinating. The difficulties they faced a few thousand years ago are not so unlike the challenges faced today when proceeding with God’s work.

2024 is not even a month old and I have already accumulated a list of sins on my once clean slate. And when I, with cringing heart, glance at that ever-growing list I am taunted with the thoughts of what could have been.

I could have responded with a gentle word but I didn’t. I could have rejoiced at the chance to show grace but I made a biting remark instead. I could have viewed that chance to serve as a gift but i chose to grumble. I could have let love cover a multitude of wrongs but I kept track. I could have celebrated but I compared and let envy grow. I could have rested in Jesus but I gave anxiety the upper hand. I could have been still and prayed but I gave my free moments to my phone instead of to Jesus…and that’s just the top of the list. It is much longer than that.

So hear I am, preparing to plan out another new week. It’s very hard to not roll my eyes at myself, throw my hands in the air and just say, “whatever.” But this life I am cultivating is like a temple for the Living God. It is His work and He has entrusted it to me to steward. Obstacles will come; my efforts will be thwarted; but good work must continue.

And just as God’s people resumed the traditions of the past in order to reorient their routines towards God, I am working into my routine more opportunities to fix my eyes on Jesus. I will resume doing the right thing again and again and yet still again.

Still Our Little Girl

Christmastime is extra delightful because our festivities conclude with celebrating a wonderful little girl who makes our family even more special. I remember waiting and wondering and feeling a unique kinship with Mary in the days before this child’s birth.

Her birth was not ideal. There were run-ins with the dr in addition to an immense amount of pain. I was startled by the bruising on her precious little face from the intensity of delivery but I was also awed by her beauty. She was such a beautiful infant and so ready to smile! We nicknamed her “birdie” because she smiled with a wide open mouth whenever someone talked to her.

As we moved into the toddler years we realized that this adorable little girl was anything but a compliant child.We soon learned that suggestions from us only yielded the opposite decision on her part. Now that she is older we have discussed this with her and she expressed to us that she doesn’t even know she does it. Her brain is simply wired to think outside the box: when offered three choices she will come up with a fourth. While this can make parenting her a bit challenging, we also see this as one of her strengths.

And she certainly is strong. She plays heartily, works tirelessly, and loves fiercely. She can even carry her hefty younger siblings and lift them in and out of their seats! We have noticed that she expects perfection of herself and is crushed when it doesn’t happen. Sometimes this causes her to withdraw from persevering in a difficult task; we hope and pray that as she grows in her devotion to Jesus she will trust Him to complete His good work in her.

As her name suggests, this girl brings fervency into our family. She has wonderfully huge ideas for how a day should go and fervently strives to make them happen; she has equally huge emotions when her plans don’t work out. We can often find her with her head drooped, shoulders sagging and tears in her eyes after she realizes, once again, that life is filled with disappointment. And yet I find her fervency contagious.

Just yesterday after she experienced a string of frustrations, she told me that she didn’t realize so many bad things could happen the day before her birthday. She also expressed that she never wants anyone to be upset with her. It was a big statement from a little girl trying to live well and tugged on my mama heartstrings. I want to mother her in ways that bring that wonderful smile to her face. I want her to dance through her childhood, lighthearted and joyful. I want her to know that here on earth a perfect day doesn’t mean a day without imperfections: it means a day when we are overwhelmed by God’s goodness and it’s all we can think about.

This little girl is a daily reminder to me of God’s faithfulness. She prompts me to live fervently and to speak honestly. She needs to know that God designed her in a beautiful way and her value is found in His perfect love for her. My prayer for her this year is that she won’t try to carry life on her own but will instead bring her burdens to Jesus. And may a smile fill her beautiful face when she remembers how much she is loved.

Happy birthday, precious Arden!

Cling

I’ve been noticing that I don’t like change very much. I take that back. I like to rearrange furniture or organize rooms as a way to relax. The change I don’t like is the unexpected kind or the kind that distances me from what I love. I love the little years of my children’s childhoods. I want Christmas to last forever. I want to recreate the simplicity of my own childhood. I grieve when I finish a good book. I don’t want friends to move or pets to die or Christmas trees to droop or spring to fade or pools to close or the red leaves of fall to drop. I want eternity.

I’ve concluded that we cling to what we love: the seasons, the possessions, the people, the time. If something is working we want it to keep going; yet there’s an end to all things and a beginning to other things. This is the cycle of life and living. Every year we experience the ebb and flow of the seasonal tides and moons and weather patterns. Nothing lasts continually; every day there is a change in our person and in those around us. We are never the same person two days in a row. Change changes us.

And that can be hard to embrace. I want the familiar to remain. If I am successful at something, I want to keep doing it. If something is beautiful, I want to rest my eyes on it daily. If something brings me joy, I want to hold it close forever. My instinct is to resist the seasonal shift. But this resistance does not cultivate a peaceful heart. What does is the acceptance of the cycles which can evolve into anticipation.

Ironically, there is consistency in the seasons. We can remind ourselves that winter bursts into spring and spring dances into summer and summer fades into fall and fall retreats into winter Every. Single. Year. And so it is in relationships, in learning new skills, in discovering ourselves after another birthday, in acclimating to a new baby or new job or new state, and even in the loss of a loved one. We go through the stages of transition, trepidation, grief, and transformation; each stage is necessary for the growth that follows.

But there is one key element that cannot be overlooked. We don’t have to entirely relinquish clinging. There is One who never changes. Scripture reminds us that while the grass withers and the flower fades the Word of God will last forever. And not only are His words everlasting; HE is the beginning and the end. All things start and finish with Him. The Almighty God is the Keeper of Time and the Author of the Human Story. He is the anchor to which I cling when all around me changes. He is the joy I can hold close forever. He is the calm in the midst of my storm, the beauty upon which I can rest my eyes Every. Single. Day.

Time Will Tell

Over the past several years my family and I have had significant experiences happen to us, and this year in particular I’ve found myself calling those experiences to mind when a fresh challenge arises. When I find myself feeling pressed for time or worried about how a situation will unfold or a child is being particularly difficult, I pull from my memory bank. I remind myself of how things played out in the past and urge my frantic mind and heart to let time do its work once more.

I have found this to be helpful with the children. When they are behaving less than desirably, my reflex is to pounce and correct. But as of late there’s been a nudge in my heart to give them time- time to cool down and come around. It’s taken a great deal of restraint on my part but the results have been favorable. More often than not the resistant child will rejoin us and participate cheerfully without any raised voices and hurt feelings involved.

I wonder if I’m not so different from my children. Our community received a devastating blow when a significant member of it was tragically killed. I’m left with so many questions for my Heavenly Father. I want to scream and cry and pound the ground with my fists. It just doesn’t seem right or fair to lose such a bright light in such a dark world. But I can feel God’s patience with me. He isn’t forcing me to come to terms with this hurt or glibly telling me to trust Him. Gently verses and songs will float into my mind assuring me that He is close. Memories of His faithfulness drift into my heart. He is giving me time to come around.

We attended the funeral of our friend who passed away so unexpectedly. It was a meaningful service that honored his legacy in poignant ways. And yet it was apparent that a slideshow and words jotted down on paper could not do justice to a lifetime. As we drove in the funeral procession, lights flashing, police-led, cars pulling to the side to offer honor, I gazed out the window and saw all that was passing by: trees rushing past, cars growing smaller…smaller…smaller, roads fading in the distance.

That is time. Passing as we try to look forward and look behind in order to grasp it. My five-year-old son has tears running down his little cheeks as Taps were being played. He didn’t ever meet the man we were honoring but I think the poignancy of the moment had touched his heart. I want to live with the poignancy of time moving my heart to savor rather than squander it.

Time teaches us to be still, to wait, to be present. Time tells us if we have made the right choice and time gives us the opportunity to make better uses of what we have left. Are we living well? Time will tell.