Snow Days

Everyone in Michigan is talking about snow days, cold days, ice days and all the other type of days that keep getting school cancelled. I think we are up to 8 or 9 now, days where the phone rings at 5 am and you hope the kids remember how to sleep in.

I've been reveling in them more than I thought I would. Slow mornings with all of my kids at home haven't been a reality in months. The absence of afternoons with epic amounts of driving that see me home past dark, just in time to put little ones to bed, is like a gift of the one thing I can't make up: time.

I've been so all in with this new life, so dedicated and determined to make it work, that I've quickly left behind things that are still so very much a part of who I am, part of what and how I love. A friend told me the other day - your life has changed so much. And I felt it then, a tug at my heart for all the things that cannot be.

The blessing of a snow day is rediscovering with joy the things buried under the drift of my current reality, not gone, not destroyed, just biding their time. I knit while the baby snoozes in my arms. I teach my tween to bake biscuits. I invite the neighbor kids over who run through the house with my kids and fill it to the brim with laughter. It's familiar and bright, like recognizing a familiar face in a crowd where I least expected it. A reminder that it is always the good things survive in refining.

I watch my oldest in a rare moment, lazily flopped across the foot of my bed, making the baby laugh. And I think of the gift of him, of her, of this day together. Outside the salt trucks scrape along our street and I know that tomorrow we'll be back on track, but right now? Right now the warm center of us is all I see.

If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

A New Day

I hear her before she cries, with that magical sixth sense mothers of babies alone seem to possess. I open my eyes to the soft blanket of grey morning light hanging like a veil over her cradle, kissing the top of her downy head. She squirms and I lean over, scooping her into my arms  and pulling her beside me in bed in one fluid motion, melting around her chubby frame and inhaling her sweet baby scent. My day begins with gratitude at 4 am. She is all gift.

It's hard to believe it has been four months. Four months since I brought her home to my childhood bedroom. 5 months since I packed a few possessions and turned up on my parent's doorstep with 7 children and one large swollen belly signalling the 8th on her way. There is so much to say. There is nothing to say.

In the last few months I've picked up and processed thousands of pieces. Of hearts and memories. Of hopes and fears. False accusations and hidden truths. I've held the pain of my kids and I've been inspired by their resilience, their forgiveness, their loyalty.

Mostly, I've been required to go back to the very foundations of my faith about God, about how He sees me and about who I am. I've hurled myself headlong into His arms and have taken every worry and hope and fear and plan I have and handed them over. Tearing through the facade I clothed myself with for years to expose the painful truth about what really happened and why.

It's something I may never fully share. It is mine and mine alone.

One thing I will say is  - nothing is ever as simple as it seems. Nothing is ever as smooth as it appears. Nothing on this earth, in the human heart, can ever be easy. God is the only one who sees and knows all.

For a long time I felt unworthy to continue writing. That without something positive to say, a way to uplift those who faithfully read the words I wrote here, that I was no longer able to serve God in this capacity. I know now that is untrue.

I know I can trust God to use all of this for good. I've seen it already. He is all mercy and grace. Always. Every moment of every day, for every person. Those fighting back tears in the pew with their seemingly perfect family, and those collapsing under the weight of a life they weren't meant to bear.

If I can be that for someone, that signpost that says, oh, love! I've been to rock bottom and there is hope yet!

If I can offer my broken heart, family, dreams - up, for you? Well, that's redemption right there. See, He's got this. All of us. Me, you, my bonus baby waking me up brimming with smiles and hope. We belong to each other just as we are. And He is faithful to use our meager human lives to spread His goodness far and wide.

A new day dawns and I start the only way.

Giving thanks.

If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

Clearing A Way

The wipers scrape hopefully across the windshield, dramatically flailing while I push the button, hard. Uh oh. I try it again, just to be sure. Again they spring to action, whipping wildly back and forth. Nada. Out of washer fluid. The dirty sludge sprayed on my windshield remains. "Can you even see what you're doing?!" My 12 year old daughter beside me squints. "Barely," I respond, teeth gritted.

******

It's been 6 long, scary, dark and desperate months since I last dared tap out words in this space. In that amount of time, I've watched my world change in such a way that I hardly recognize it, or myself. Each time I thought I'd reached rock bottom, bloodied fingers scraping seemingly immovable obstacles, more of life seemed to crumble.

I look back on these pages and remember the days of baking bread and blocking wool and warm afternoons in the sunshine pushing my babies on the swings. I remember the hard a bit softer, I'm sure, and the bright much shinier, but that is the nature of hindsight. Now I'm tossed into the world of searching for daycare, looking for Mama-friendly work, navigating the world of "real school" that I am woefully ignorant in and spending hours a week driving carpool. All of it is outside of my experience. All of it feels like some colossal mistake. So much is continuing to unfold in our lives, changing and challenging each one of us in ways we feel unprepared for.

Still, at the very center, a spark. A knowledge that leads to a choice. And a choice that leads to radical action.

This year, I know God is calling me to deeper gratitude, all encompassing faith, more complete reliance. This year, I know that beauty might be harder to spot but God is still in this, with me, each step of the way. Not my way, no, not at all. Not according to my plans or dreams or hopes, really. But His way - can I trust it's really best?

He is still at work, even here, even with me, even in this family. There isn't a moment, a challenge, a fear He doesn't hold; own. It's dark and it's cold and I'm afraid I've lost my way and my vision is blurred and I'm so far off course I could never possibly find my way back, but maybe that's the goal here? Never back. Always forward. Allowing Him to lead me through places I have never been, choosing to trust that He's got it, all of it. Setting aside my pride and my preconceived notions of what my life should look like, and letting Him lead instead.

It's really all I have left.

*****

Dinah leans over the hood of the car. "I think it goes there," she points. Together we fill it up, blowing our frigid fingers at intervals before slamming the hood shut and hopping in the car. Inside, she nods and again I press. Nothing. Again? No. Heart sinking with the thought that something might really be wrong, I lean my forehead on the icy cold steering wheel. "Maybe it just needs a few tries? Do it again," she says.

Once more, then. A sparkling spray and we're clear. And just like that, I can see where to go, what to do, and how to get there.

****

Some gratitude for my new life:

~Wonderful schools where my children are happy, learning and safe.

~A community of families who help them get there.

~Moments each day with each one of my precious people

~A family committed to supporting and helping when and where they can

~A flexible work situation

~Weekly worship, which feeds my soul

~A warm home, a working vehicle, all needs met

~Grace, forgiveness, redemption.


If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

Frailty

She finally slipped off to sleep at 5:45, that feverish little one who would be comforted with nothing but me. I lie awake, listening to her labored breathing and feeling every moment of that sleepless night with every fiber of my being.

There comes a time in everyone's life when they experience frailty. Perhaps due to pregnancy and birth I've glimpsed it more than someone my age might, but I'm thinking on it more and more as the days go by. As I sit in a doctor's office and ask could there be a reason for this exhaustion? As I read the results of the blood tests and swallow hard with the realization that this might just be my new normal. There's nothing "wrong" with me, my doctor explains. I'm just a tired, overworked Mama, burning the candle at both ends. It turns out, there's nothing he can do for me. Frailty. A part of life.

I'm sipping morning coffee on the couch, feet tucked up under me, hands snaking around the radiant warmth of the biggest mug I own. A morning ritual of grasping for straws. Maybe if I wake a bit earlier, caffeinate a bit more...maybe then? Get a nap, do some yoga, something? I find rest where I can, although it never seems to be enough, just a drop in the bucket of my greedy human need.

December comes around this year and for the first time I can remember, I regard it indifferently. Without stress, yes, but without anticipation, too. I order Advent candles on amazon, pick up gold coins at the grocery store and scan the Christmas wish lists the kids stick to the fridge. I am out of energy. If Christmas is going to require anything more of me, well, it will be sorely disappointed. I'm just one a person. A little, tired person. A plaintive prayer. I'm doing all I can do. One little human life. The anti-superwoman.

God knows a little something about frailty. When I remember, I can feel the tension I am carrying around release a little bit. Frailty is a part of life and He put it on when He came for us. To enter fully into humanity is to enter fully into helplessness, poverty of body and soul. God did that to give us something better. Redemption for the least of these by becoming one first, and pouring the richness of who He is into every one of us.

The kids start to wake up and I know today will be intense and long, loud and difficult, that I will not, never, be able to do it all, be everything I want to be. But every act of service is a prayer and every sacrifice counted. God knows frailty. He understands and extends bountiful grace to cover every part of me. The weak and the strong, the stubborn, the brave, the fearful, the exhausted. He knows, feels and holds all of my frailty. And it is enough.

Littles are shouting breakfast orders and I'm so, so tired. But so full, happy and blessed with this common, simple, fragile, rich life.

For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich.

2 Corinthians 8:9

If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

Accepting the Unknown

It's one of those hot, overcast summer days. The baby is down for a nap up in my bed. The big kids scattered here and there around the neighborhood and the littles went with my husband to pick up a pinata for a birthday celebration later on. I'm running the laundry (always) and cleaning up the kitchen for what feels like the umpteenth time today. I crack open the window above the sink, hoping for a little cross breeze.

Tomorrow my brother and his family move out of state for a medical fellowship, and just like that this blessed time is over. The time we will look back on with a special fondness. When our yards connected and our kids melded into one big pack, when we could stop in for coffee or borrow a cup of sugar. A lovely communal time that seemed like it would go on forever, even though we knew it wouldn't. It was something special, a good gift from our heavenly Father, and one we will never forget. As sad as it is to see them go and to start to navigate new changes, today all I have is gratitude...and hope.

Hope, because God does give us such good gifts. Such amazing things that stretch beyond our reasoning, things that we might not even know to ask for. My life has been sprinkled with these sparkling jewels of grace, pointing me toward a love that is so unfathomably deep, it's bottomless.

So many things, people, experiences, moments have come and gone, and I think I'm finally turning over a new leaf. For so many years, I feared the unknown. What if something bad happens? I wanted to know in advance, to prepare, to be ready to spring into action, to have a plan. What if something good happens? I didn't want to miss it, to be all set to savor and acknowledge and be all in. If I could have asked for anything, being all knowing may have been high on my list of desired traits.

 But these days, I'm seeing the wisdom God has in keeping us a little bit in the dark. Requiring us to trust Him to direct our steps. I think for a while I saw myself as kind of a co-director. Me and God, working this out together, a cooperative effort. But as these years tick on by and this life is woven one strand at a time, He's gently teaching me to relax my grip. Admit my fears, doubts and feeble human comprehension, and turn it over to Him instead.

It isn't easy. There are still those moments of sheer panic and white knuckling, those days when I feel so bogged down with the details that I can hardly stand. That's what happens when you fight the losing battle of control. You sacrifice your peace, your joy, your sanity.

God knows the desires of my heart. He knows my fears and failings, hopes and dreams better than I ever could. He loves me more than I love myself and His abundant life is just waiting for me, life a gift each morning. Because He knows it all, I don't need to. I can just live this day, this hour, these normal life moments as the mere mortal I am, trusting Him to direct the show.

Like a breeze cutting through the pressing humidity in the longest day of the year, it feels a little bit like freedom slicing right on through.

If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

Lonely Spaces

“Thou hast formed us for Thyself, and our hearts are restless till they find rest in Thee.” (Augustine, Confessions (Book 1)

My best friend of 21 years moved away last fall. Yesterday I was reminiscing on how I used to lay across her bed up in her room, doodling while she read aloud ghost stories. Trying out makeup and taking quizzes in "Seventeen" magazine. How we'd shoot baskets in her back yard, or sing made up harmony on the front porch in the sunshine. I drive past her childhood home every day, just a block past where I'm raising my family. And although it is painted differently now and she hasn't lived here in over a decade, I miss her.

She moved last fall, not just an hour or two away, something attainable for a weekend trip. No, she moved across the country. At the time I was so intent on giving her all the support that she needed that I pushed my own grief down, deep. I'm not sure I realized how far down it went until recently. Summertime feels so empty without her. 

Yesterday some friends and I spent the day at the lake with just a few nursing babies, loving on another one of my closest friends who will be moving to another state in two weeks. Good things for her family. Important next steps. After she dropped me off and drove away in the dusk, I turned inward and that familiar ache began again.

I'm not sure the human heart ever shakes a certain type of loneliness. You can marry your soul mate. You can live next door to your best friend. You can have thousands of friends or just a tight knit circle - and you can still feel like the only one. Still have those moments of pain and sorrow that is hard to put a finger on. An important puzzle piece will always be missing. For humans who were created to walk with God through a garden, that yawning hole of ache is the rule, not the exception.

As with any grief, there is no timeline for this. No expiration date on when you're supposed to be "over it." Grief is as complicated and unique as the people experiencing it. Personalities, love languages, past hurts and current circumstances all wrapped up in it. My attempts at moving forward before I'm ready have backfired, leaving me more disillusioned and lonely than before. It is something that can make other people uncomfortable, even the most well meaning trying to hustle you past it to a place that feels easier for everyone. But ease is the enemy of change. And during these hard transitions, change is the hope that keeps me limping on.

Because that is just it. I know with a surety that I know little else in this life, that there is redemption at work here. That hard paths are made a bit easier when you know that so much can grow from walking it. I'm looking for the things God has for me here, in this space that is so uncomfortable for me. Looking for the ways He wants to use my time, my heart, my life within these circumstances. When I look back at all the tough things I have encountered in my life, I can see the over arching theme of redemption held right alongside.  In ways small and large and in between, He is always faithful to use it all for good. I absolutely trust that.

So I wake up on another Monday in this place with these kids and name the hurt. Ugh. I miss you. And then, grief acknowledged, I open wide my arms and my heart, ready to embrace what is growing in this place. Just another space He is calling me to abide in Him this year.

I know, for sure, it's going to be good.




If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

Raising Kids in Self Mastery

What is the hardest part of parenting for you?

For me, it is denying my children something I want them to have because of something I want for them even more. It's a grappling I have to do with myself because I just want all the goodness for them, right now. Keeping my eye on the prize is tough in those moments when giving in just seems so much happier. Finding that space between grace and consequences. It's hard.

This weekend saw a few such moments. Moments where I think "I really don't want to have to follow up with consequences here. I just want to have a good day." Moments where my own self discipline threatened to waver. Isn't that just the way? Raising kids in self mastery requires me to master myself first. Just one of the many ways that growing kids grows me - maybe even more than them at times.

Sometimes I feel like my life is all just one big lesson in what not to do. I look at my past choices and pray that my kids have a bit more sense. A bit more control. A bit more wisdom. The ability to look beyond the heady exhilaration of this moment to something deeper. More enduring.

That's what it really boils down to for me. It's what I feel like I tell each of my kids ad nauseum: Learning to say "no" to yourself is the greatest gift you can give your future. Giving in to your whims may seem like the way to a happy life, but you find as you grow that self mastery begins with the ability to say no - which leads to a better and more powerful yes.

It's the trading of what you want in this specific moment for what you want in the bigger picture. It is also in direct opposition with what the culture is teaching our kids.

It's the power to say "no" to sleeping in and skipping class and a better and stronger "yes" to reaching your goals. It's the power to say "no" to walking out on an argument and finding someone to stroke your ego and "yes" to working things out with your spouse. It's the power to say "no" to ease and selfishness and "yes" to a sacrificial, other-centered life. It's the ability to say "no" to what the world values and "yes" to what God values. "No" to the nap and "yes" to the weights.

And honestly? I have no idea how to teach it. But perhaps that's the point? Self-mastery is a personal journey. One that starts when we are young and continues on our entire lives. One that I'm still on, and can share with my kids in the most natural way possible. By living it. One day at a time.

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we 

will reap a harvest if we do not give up.

Galations 6:9

If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

Made For This

Today is is supposed to hit 88 degrees. Michigan spring has a way of doing that - going straight from worrying about frost killing everything to watermelon and sprinklers and beating the heat in any way we can. I think I'm ready for it. Today we will pull the screens out of the garage and hose off box fans we lug out of the basement. Summer in our 100+ year old house is pretty much stuck in the 50's as far as climate control. I hit the grocery store early for popsicles. The baby wakes up with a head of humidity sent sticky curls. My big girls wake early and spread blankets on the lawn to watch the sun come up. The beginning of a brand new summer is always an exciting event.

I love changing seasons because each time they feel fresh. A new opportunity to look at life with new eyes. This spring, I'm 32. With seven kids, (almost) 13 down to 1. It's a fresh start.

Lately, sprinkled here and there in many different conversations with a variety of people, I've come up against this idea of individual giftings. Personalities and talents. The way each on of us was created to reflect the Creator and the many, many different forms that that takes. With one friend, I muse about it in relation to homeschooling. Am I trying to be a homeschooler that I am not? With another, in how I am meant to spend my time and bless my family. Am I using my time to grow the gifts I have been given, or am I pursuing something not meant for me?

I wonder if God is shaking his head at me when I try to pigeonhole myself in one area, all the while ignoring the spaces and things that He has meant for me. Banging my head against a brick wall when if I just take a moment to be honest with myself, I would realize it's not for me.

These are hard realizations, but important ones. Taking them out once in a while and considering them is vital to staying on track. It's something I have neglected of late, going through the motions and wondering why life has felt so stale. So joyless.

We are, all of us, made for love. That is always the place to begin. From there, humbly and prayerfully discerning our intended paths is a practice that will be ongoing. A life long lesson in offering ourselves up to be used for His glory, in His way.

It's how we trust His provision. That we can do what we are called to and trust that He's got the rest.

We are made to be more than a carbon copy of every other human that has ever lived. In embracing our unique talents and spirit-led passions, wrapping it all up with the personality we were born with, we are working together with the God of the universe to bless the world. That is big stuff. Important stuff.

So I start this new summer with that in mind. Beginning with love in the way I've been blessed to love. Giving all glory to the One who made me just for this.

If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

Love is Work

I feel it bubble up within me at the oddest times. Usually while I'm washing dishes, or making dinner, folding laundry or sweeping up. When my kids are all running around the backyard when they should be inside helping and I can see them laughing from the window. Always, always when I'm doing something for someone else.

"I am so in love with these people."

It's unbidden, this thought, and when it comes over me I hold onto the delicious way it makes me feel for a beat or two. Yes, I am. So in love. So grateful for every single one of them. Yes, when I'm scrubbing crusted pans at the sink. Yes, when I'm folding the fourth load of laundry today. Yes, when I'm sweeping up the cheerios beneath the high chair.

I think about it when another feeling comes over me. A less positive one. A more "can't I get 5 minutes to myself?" feeling. Those ones, they tend to show up when I'm trying to do something for me. The irritation of interruption is a joy-stealer for sure. The contrast of my activity and the feeling makes me realize:

It's a grace to serve. A blessing to be other-focused. These long days of hard work are a privilege and I'm gathering them up. It's the real life truth that it is more blessed to give than to receive. Even when your feet ache and you're wrung out with exhaustion, love is something that wraps around the moments where your focus is on something bigger than just you.

It's a truth I forget during selfish seasons, times when self pity moves in and contentment is shoved to the side. 

My three year old is approximately five handfuls at all times of the day. My baby is starting to walk. I'm schooling four kids and trying to keep Peter out of mud puddles (and doing the subsequent zillion loads of laundry), trying to keep food in the fridge for my ravenous almost-teenager, trying to have a little energy and good humor left at the end of the day for my man. I can easily get side tracked by the enormity of life and forget that this is what it is all about.

Being in love with my people, being love to my people, isn't a puffy pink heart. It's not when I'm all dolled up, or well rested. It isn't when everyone is behaving perfectly, or on our smooth and easy days.

It's about making the choice to be love, without contingency. That's where the flood of grace comes from. Not from picture perfect moments, but the times that require a little bit of compassion. A little bit of understanding and a whole lot of effort. There's a dirty grit to doing real life with real people. Love gets in there anyway.

I can't force it, but I know where to find it. Getting out of my own way, away from my expectations, my perfectionism check lists - and diving head first into the messy, exhausting, exhilarating work of love.

If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

Wordless

How many times in the past few years have I been here? This place of wordlessness, yawning open like a canyon at my feet. I've witnessed these moments more than a few times with more than a few people who are hurting, deeply. And each and every time I sit with blinking cursor and type and erase, type and erase a thousand times words that cannot adequately speak to the ache of life and the howl of a human soul.

It's a curious time for comfort. In a time when we in some ways have more opportunity to reach one another, we are isolated from very real, deep ways to conveying sympathy, prevented in some ways from setting up real shoulder to shoulder community by a lack of physical, tangible presence in the lives of one another.

That's the thing about this ultra connected, text and social media world we have set up for ourselves: there is no space here for wordlessness. Silence. No way to communicate beyond what only feels like trite platitudes in the place silent space-holding should occupy. My best friends in the world don't even live in the same state as I do, and time and time again I feel myself pressing against the glass of superficiality when words are the only thing I have to offer when life shocks us silent.

It's a frustration I rail against and walk circles around, trying to tug my way beyond into something more meaningful. Something beyond "I'm sorry." Or "I love you." Something deeper than "I don't know what to say." It's a time when I have to face down the fact that I'm not God and I can't fix it. Or, really? Anything. Really, isn't that the point? Those words feel trite because they are. The redemption of human suffering is beyond the scope of what mere mortals are capable of, the cobbling together of a solution impossible in our limitations.

That's why there is nothing to say. There is nothing to say, nothing to do, nothing for me but to be a holder of hearts, a silent sentry bearing witness to the pain of another. And in my helplessness, cry out to the only One who holds us all.

If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

The Weight of Trust

Under my bare feet, the ball shifts. My muscles adjust, automatically, without a thought, and that familiar burn takes hold. I remember - breathe. Breathe.

I'm 32 and it has become a daily practice of mine. Move. Sweat. Lift. Breathe.

In this season of life, I'm thinking a lot about trust. 3 job losses in 18 months, 7 kids who need me and the future up ahead ever so uncertain - it's just too easy to fall prey to fear. To forget that trust requires a little bit of weight bearing, muscle building.

Ask anyone looking to change their body and they'll tell you - muscle is hard to build. It's quite a bit easier to diet and cardio your way to small than it is to build yourself to strength.

That's the way of balance. It's only when we adjust and adjust and adjust, catch it a bit more before each fall, each attempt - that we grow stronger. The fiber of our muscles knit, deep. Each time, a bit more automatic. A bit more time before we just can't anymore.

Lack of effort only yields atrophy, but repeated attempts - yes, even those that leave us wounded, with scraped palms and bruised egos - yeah, they are what breed strength.

Getting distracted by the pain and effort is the surest way to miss out on the benefits. The way I'm changing, sculpted in grace, strengthened in trust.

For all the times I almost fell - but didn't. For all the times I reached out in the dark and still found solid footing. For all the nights I went to bed in doubt and woke again to a new day of mercy.

It isn't a guarantee that life won't hurt, that people won't disappoint, that you won't fall. But it is the surest way I've found to getting back on your feet faster, ready to start, try, to live again.

The miracle here is something we always have known. That with patience, practice and persistence, tearing down and building back - we can grow. Couple that with the nourishing Word and I can feel it - strength returning. Sharpened. Sure.

Trust is a muscle built with reps. I'm counting them out, and counting on Him. And I'm never let down.

If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

Fairy Tale Gospel

Before the coffee splashes into my mug, I'm already telling someone why we aren't having nachos for breakfast. I've already reminded a scowling kid that we don't play with electronics before our jobs are done. I've already gone head to head with a strong willed preschooler and I've already cleaned up a mess of sloshed cereal and milk. Before I take that first sip that signals the start of the day, I've already thought, "ugh. It's going to be one of those."

I have really good kids. But they are kids. I have really good kids. But there are a lot of them. I have really good kids. But I'm not always a really good mom. These are the parameters I live within and you'd think at some point I'd stop being surprised that this is not an easy life. A good life. A sanctifying life. A life overflowing with the blessings of the most loving God. But easy? No.

I settle kids with cereal, finally pour that coveted brew and sneak back up to my room for a moment of quiet reprieve. It's then that I think - when will I stop trying to live within the exceptions and learn to thrive within the rule? At this time of life, the exception is a quiet, drama-less morning. The rule is a little more chaotic. The exception is ease. The rule is hitting the ground running. The exception is compliant kids. The rule is high spirited, strong willed people who need my help to sort it all out.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the family as being the first church children encounter. It is here that they begin their lives in a faith community - not that big building we visit once a week. It is here that we lay down the rails of what it means to follow Jesus. Just as we wouldn't think much of a pastor who is wonderful when everything is going well but is nowhere to be found when loving people gets hard, so it is with parenting these kids. The way to show children the innate sanctity of human life begins with loving people who aren't always acting lovable. You can preach it til you're blue in the face but if you lose it every time your kids disappoint you, they're learning a different lesson loud and clear.

G. K. Chesterton says,

"There is the great lesson of "Beauty and the Beast," that a thing must be loved before it is lovable."

So perhaps the rule is beastliness, the exception beauty. But Mamas, you have a unique gifting to see the beauty within these kids even at their most beastly. You have the opportunity to help cultivate lovely people. You're doing it. Even on the hardest mornings, even when you're reticent to start, even when anything else would be more appealing and, yes, even when you haven't even had that first sip of coffee.

It's the way through every hard morning. It's the answer to every parent/child clash. Begin with love and watch the beast melt away and the beauty blossom. Begin with love again and again and again, and your children experience gospel in real life.

It's morning in our domestic church. My mission is clear and ridiculously simple.

 {Love. Them.}

If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

Not Ready

Rosemary will be 3 years old this weekend, and she's not ready.

Oh, she's been potty trained for nearly a year, speaks clearly in full sentences, is somewhat precocious and opinionated and, on occasion, demanding.  She knows she wants a pink birthday cake, how to show three fingers for her age, how to draw in crazy detail. She has everything she needs to be three.

Except Rosemary still nurses. And not just once or twice a day, but as much as she possibly can. It might be the thing she loves most in life. Rosemary isn't ready to be three because her Mama said at three, it's time to be done. There's a long standing (ridiculous, in my opinion) saying,"if they are old enough to ask for it, they are too old!" Well, Rosie not only asks for it, but can give you a three point logical explanation why you should submit to her demands. "Mama can you please nurse me when you are done folding that laundry? I'm waiting patiently!" Goodness.

I'm not really ready either, because I know that this time, weaning won't be easy. Not that it ever is, but, as I mentioned, Rosemary is more than just fond of nursing. She is incredibly attached. The few times that I have tried to cut back with her have elicited sobs and pleading and hours long tantrums. Weaning is almost certainly going to be difficult for both of us. But is the avoidance of difficulty really a good reason to continue on with something? If I've learned anything, it's that ease isn't always a good thing - and sometimes the pursuit of ease prevents us from moving forward with other good things.

The thing is, I know how she feels. I know how it feels to be so attached to something that the thought of being done with it can make you sob for days. I know this aversion to change, to growth, to maturity. I know how it feels when God asks you to hand over your security, comfort and sense of place, asking only for your trust that He has something better. It's scary. It's hard. It hurts.

Nursing is the best thing in Rosemary's life. Her very favorite. In her limited experience, the best life has to offer. It spells comfort to her. Love. Security and place. Part of her very identity feels wrapped up in this. I can so relate. 

I can't see the future for Rosie, but I know that this is just the start of so many good and beautiful things in her life. So much that will bring her joy and spell love in her life. As I watch my little girl grow, I know I'll see her grapple with the pain of letting go a thousand times in this life. I get a little glimpse at how God feels watching us. Full of sympathy, love and compassion, yet knowing that sometimes it's in the letting go that we receive more than we could have ever dreamed of. If He waited for us to decide when we are ready, would we ever be? I know comfort is a strong influence in my life. Would I ever be ready to step out in trust? Or am I the type that needs a little push?

Today she's still two, and her curls are so long they brush my leg when she sits on my lap and nurses, patting my cheek with her hand, her beautiful brown eyes searching my face. It's hard to imagine anything better than this. But I know there's something better coming along. My Mama heart feels like it couldn't love someone more - and I know He loves both of us deeper still.

"The hard things will be for good. The good things will be forever. The best things will be forthcoming."

~Ann Voskamp

If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

Gently Does It

"There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus."

Romans 8:1

How has it been two weeks? Time flies when you are knee deep in birthday season with Holy Week and visitors thrown into the mix. Truthfully, I've barely kept up with spinning all of the plates I've got going and, as is commonly the case, writing is the first thing to go. Except it hasn't, at least not completely. I have a draft folder full of half baked ideas and thoughts, moments of intention that were interrupted. I'm still learning how to be interrupted well. This life is so full of opportunities to stretch and grow into virtue. Sometimes maddeningly so.

The three March birthdays, a baby shower, Easter are all behind us, with the final birthday in this set coming up this weekend, along with a visit from my husband's parents. I've been looking toward this weekend as an end cap to the madness since before Lent. I know that living life to "just get past this" isn't how I want to be, nor is it what I am called to. Still, something has to change and I feel it most on the day after Easter when my home is a shambles, work men show up unannounced and I'm completely overwhelmed by the chaos. All of that paired with lack of sleep and several consecutive weeks of extras and I'm just suddenly so done I couldn't be more done if I tried. And I realize it in the moment right after I completely lose it that maybe I need to get a little better at establishing boundaries and respecting my own needs.

It's a common realization for me at times like this, but one I always struggle with implementing. On the one hand, service and self donation are, in my mind, the highest and truest calling on my life. On the other hand, I have a tendency to give until I give out. It is only when I'm at rock bottom looking up that I realize maybe I'm going about this all wrong. When I see someone with a good grasp on communicating their needs and establishing their boundaries, I'm in awe. My people-pleasing tendencies run deep, and in the rare event that I do try to set parameters such as that, I'm back pedaling and apologizing before anyone knows what happened. If anyone has any suggestions for good reading on boundaries within a Christian life, I'm all ears.

The thing is, pushing through until the magical weekend with nothing on the schedule is a fools errand - because right beyond that we start the push toward summer time with all that that brings. I've got to figure out how to choose the better part - and to remember who and Who's I am. In those tender early days following the arrival of a baby, I have no guilt about requiring gentleness for myself. Perhaps there are other seasons and reason to give myself a break and remember that not all rest is laziness and not all efficiency is good. Sometimes, dare I say it, the theme of the day needs to be to simply abide.

Perhaps you're like me? And you think you need permission, a reason to be gentle with yourself. You don't. Dearly loved one, don't forget to treat yourself with kindness and heaping grace.



Today, for me, for you, for us - gently does it. 




If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

Deadlines, Discipline, Discipleship

I've got a deadline this week, so naturally today when I found myself with a stretch of time while both (!) of my little ones napped, I painted my toenails. And now I'm blogging. It's a knitting deadline, which is almost worse. Writing deadlines can be powered through, but knitting? For as quickly as I knit, there is a limit to stitches-per-minute and I can't simply conjure a sweater out of thin air. Still, there it sits, waiting for me. And I'm doing everything I can think of to refrain from picking it up.

Deadlines do that to me. Maybe it's naive of me, but I don't think I'm really a procrastinator. At least, not intentionally. I'm not putting it off because I'm sure I'll have time to get to it later. I'm more paralyzed by a deadline to the point where I simply cannot bring myself to do the one thing I really need to do. Just thinking about THE THING leads to thoughts of the deadline and wondering if there will be enough time and I can feel the anxiety in me rising. So I paint my nails. And procrastinate by writing a blog about how I'm not a procrastinator. Sigh.

I've been thinking lately about what it means to live life on call. I read this interesting piece a few months back and it really resonated with me. Because what is parenthood if not life "on call"? At any given moment, any given thing could happen. Perhaps that is why I prefer to be a more flexible, fly by the seat of my pants kind of mom. Because when your whole life looks that way, it's easier to adapt to the call, whenever it comes, whatever it is. The danger of such a lifestyle is that it can be a disguise for a lack of discipline. With any strength there is a related weakness. With my great proficiency for adaptability comes a general lack of ability to adhere to any sort of schedule or program for very long. It's something I've been working on and is proving to be more of a mental and spiritual practice than I had previously supposed.

I started exercising regularly a few weeks after Magnolia was born and what began slow and gentle and small has become a daily practice of mine. A non negotiable, like taking a shower or brushing my teeth. Thinking about discipline in this way makes me realize that adaptability doesn't have to flee in the face of schedule. It just works within known boundaries and parameters. Some days the stars align and the kids are compliant and I get a really great, long, sweaty work out in. Other days it is clear that, at best, I'll get in a few push ups while I'm making dinner and stretch while playing with the baby on the floor. The important part is I stick with my goals of intentional movement every day. In the early days, the most difficult part for me was accepting interruption. I didn't want to be interrupted when I was all sweaty, or get sidetracked by kids who needed me and not know when I'd get a shower. 9 months in and I don't even think about it. It has become a part of my daily life.

At the start of Lent, I took a look at my life to consider what other areas I could baby step in this way with. One was taking facebook off my phone - necessary self discipline. Another was starting every day by starting the laundry, something that is so necessary for our home to run smoothly. I've fallen off the wagon with each but I've also climbed back on to try it again. I'm finding the discipline begets discipline, and getting strong in one area can help you begin from a place of strength with others. Neither may seem like a particularly pious spiritual practice, but that's only if you look at it from the outside. From the inside, discipline requires discipleship. I used to think that my wildly undisciplined life was more open to God's leading then a super planned regimented existence, but perhaps that was a narrow, lazy view. Perhaps there is a place that both discipline and openness meet, that spot where you are open to being on call, yes, but also intentional in the meantime. I'm looking for it.

God directing my steps does not absolve me from any responsibility for how I spend my time. It simply means I need to proceed with an attitude of humility, ready for His plans to trump mine, every time. My fear of diving into something because it might not end up the way I had envisioned prevents me from the awe inspiring wonder at watching God take my plans and meld them with His for His glory and my ultimate good.

Anyway, just something I'm wrestling with, learning and bending my brain around today.

So. About that deadline...

If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

Everything I Need

It's March, or "Birthday Month" as it is known around here. We celebrate in our small ways and I'm so grateful for grateful kids. The kind who just want to wear the felt birthday crowns I made years ago and pick out the type of cake we have. The kind of kids who don't know what they want for their birthdays because, as my beautiful daughter Dinah tells me - "I have everything I need and a lot of what I want." When people say "children are a blessing," I'm not sure we entirely grasp what that means. I used to think it was a one-time thing. Children are a blessing the day they are born. We were blessed. But the truth is, children are a blessing - an on-going blessing. My children amaze me with their selflessness, humble me with their generous hearts and inspire me with their love.

So I take birthday cake orders and pick up a few little gifts and marvel at how the time has gone by and how deeply in love I can fall. When my Dad places his hand on my daughter's head and prays over her in the middle of family dinner, I have everything I need - and a lot of what I want.

I started this blog a long time ago. At the time I think I wanted to paint a picture of the best parts of our lives. Not, I don't think, to mislead people into thinking that is all that goes on here, but rather to focus on the good. I love those sweet writings and to go back to that place and remember all of that goodness. There is goodness here now, and I do hope to appreciate and commemorate it. Over the past few years, though, life has taught me that sometimes the best showcasing of God's glory isn't in the parts that we think of as being good - but rather the way He moves when things are anything but.

Nothing is perfect here. But I'm beginning to see that maybe that is the point.

There is nothing remarkable about people making a lovely life amidst lovely circumstances. Rather, it is when beauty blooms despite difficulty that we are beckoned in for a closer look. The more I lean into that truth, the more I appreciate the life around us, and the more fearlessly I can face the things that would threaten to shake me to my very foundation. God's glory isn't limited to the High Church moments. It is infused into the daily stuff we walk through.

In this year of abiding, I'm surrounding myself with people who point me to Jesus and I'm struck by how regular they all are. There are no super humans on my list. All normal, humble, loving, imperfect people. People with dirty laundry piles, difficult relationships, people who are sometimes without answers. People who argue with their spouses and snap at their kids, yes, but people who are committed to the daily practice of following Jesus as best their broken lives allow. I cannot even explain how comforting, inspiring and humbling it is to walk this year with those people, and how comforting to see God in ordinary lives, ordinary people. He shows up for us in the rough every day, and in some ways that is when He shows how mighty He truly is. Even here. Even this. Even us.

It's March. Birthday month. A pretty muddy, mucky time of year and not the easiest time of life. No, nothing is perfect and yes, that is kind of the point. Because here, even in this imperfect place, we are witnesses to impossible glory.

It's everything, everything that I need.


If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.

Hope To Believe In

It's morning in our little house. My husband gets ready for work and grabs the lunch I prepared for him out of the fridge. Our kids mill about, getting breakfast, talking and playing with each other. Upstairs I spy the four littlest cuddled up on one of the boys' beds. Just cuddling. Just being together. I gather up the laundry and make beds and nurse babies and sip coffee. I've written a lot (probably too much) about our little house and my struggle to make peace with it, but this morning it feels like it fits us just right. We nestle in and make it home and yeah, it can be a mess and a headache, but it can also be clean and warm and bright.

Yesterday was the Primary here in Michigan. My husband and I slipped out after dinner with the toddler to get our votes in. Politics have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, something my family has always felt important to take part in. We waited in a long line, we cast our votes but for the first time I can remember, I had no enthusiasm for it.

Truth is, when I look to the news about the choices our country is facing, I feel like I don't belong here. Like living in a house that doesn't seem to fit us or meet our needs, I get frustrated. Discontent. I remind God that I had something else in mind, and list all the reasons why my idea makes so much more sense than His.

It seems a lot of my friends are in the same boat. Post after post on facebook expresses outrage, fear, disbelief. We wonder why God gives us these lives, these convictions, and then places us in a world that fails to support them. How on earth are we supposed to raise kids according to the morals and ethics we believe in during times like this when everything on the outside seems in direct conflict? I go to bed frustrated after watching the newscast. Lie awake in the dark listening to my baby breathe in deep sleep and wonder about the future.

The next morning dawns and brings fresh perspective with her. The truth is, this life is not about finding comfort. It has never been about the easy way. It has always been the choice to be in the world but not of the world. It's how we are sanctified - through struggle and sacrifice and seeking God first even when everything else is whirling chaos. Like a tight little house overflowing with kids, God meets us in the mayhem of our circumstances and offers us His presence. All we have to do is trust that He's got this. And He does.

Our task is always to glow brightly with the promise of God's love. Through every storm. Every dark night. Christ is the beacon of hope and we point His way with lives that tell of His goodness. No matter what everyone else is doing.

That's how you find contentment and peace within all circumstances, large and small. From a little home that you thought you'd have left behind years ago to a country that never seems to get it right, there is still hope here. No matter what it looks like on the outside, He never left.

It's the morning after the primary and I'm thankful for this country of ours. I can trust that our presence here matters and means something, even if we are the minority. It's where we have been planted and I know it's for good. Just keep on Abiding.

John 16:33

I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! For I have overcome the world.

If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribing to future posts.  Thank you.