Birthday Cakes and Life

We are in the midst of the crazy March/April birthday madness over here and, just when we finally finish the cake from one birthday, it's time to bake another. Having kids in school has only exacerbated the already crazy cake-problem as they seem to require me to bake cupcakes to take to school as well. I feel like powdered sugar has somehow become a grocery staple right up there with eggs and milk. And, more than anything, I'm feeling that spun out, breath knocked out feeling that all of this crept up on me. Again. Doesn't it do that every year?

The perk of having all of these birthdays in one insane burst is that there isn't much time for navel gazing. I spend a moment or two on the days of their birth remembering with wonder how they burst into my life and changed it - always for the better. Gifts unfathomable, these kids of mine. Still, the celebrations tick on by and, beyond that, it's business as usual around here. Just as well because it's not the birthdays that change them. It's the every day.

I notice it mostly with my Dinah. She's all lip smackers, overalls and peace sign selfies these days and I feel even more so now than when she was little that, if I blink, I'll miss it. This girl that she is. The woman she's becoming.  Maybe it's being a young-ish mom or maybe all moms feel this, but I well remember being twelve. How deeply I felt things. How strong my convictions of justice and how sure I was about my place on this earth. It's a precious and tender, strong and fragile time of life. I am more and more aware that the words I speak to her have lasting power. Meaning. That the life I live in front of her eyes is something that she won't ever forget.

That thought is sobering but, also? A grace, of sorts. When I look deep into my childhood at the woman I call Mom through the lens of a 30-something, I feel nothing but compassion. Love. Understanding for the struggles of daily life, the sacrifices she embraced with joy and the mistakes that she agonized over. Life is complicated and important and amazing and a one-shot deal. But life is also just life.

It's a reminder I turn over and over in my head through all the decisions I walk through, all the choices I make, all the prayers that I pray. That abiding truth that the most important things are always the humble things. And all those big things that cause us so much anxiety and consternation and sleepless nights and strangling fear? Those things will be swept up and consumed by the sun rising on tomorrow. Because it always, always does.

Every single day is awash with grace, dear ones. Grace for the many ways this could go, and grace for how it turns out.

These babies are growing and changing. Life keeps on. I'm walking through this season with the knowledge that we are all wrapped in mercy, every breath we take. And I'm calling it good.


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Building a Sensational Summer

                   

Summer Camp. Hot days at the lake. Dripping ice cream cones. Bike rides. S'mores. When you live in the Midwest, you may have a slight issue with idolizing summer. And who really can blame us? It's cold and nasty for so long that the 12 weeks of summer are that much more important. I tend to approach them anxiously, not wanting to be over-scheduled but also not wanting to miss out on what makes summer so special.

With this in mind, I came up with a list of summertime goals. Things I'd like to see happen on at least a weekly or biweekly basis. Something that gives the summer intention without being overly structured, giving ample time to the lazy boredom that is so necessary to spark some imaginative growth. Our bigger kids have camp and VBS, service project weeks and some other trips scheduled, so that fills things out nicely for them and also gives me a chance to focus on the little ones.

We have one car and my husband's job has a long-ish commute, making dropping him off and picking him up quite a commitment. This is the first summer I've had to work within those parameters and, to be honest, I haven't been very happy about it. When friends text to see if I can meet them at the park this afternoon, the answer is always going to be no. And that can be incredibly frustrating. While my natural inclination is to be as open and available to whatever whim comes our way, I can't operate that way this year. But with my hopes for the summer listed out, I can begin brainstorming ways to make them happen.

 This is what I came up with. What would you add?

Weekly:

Visit Water. This can be a pool or one of the millions of lakes we have or maybe even just a park with a good play stream or splash pad.

Visit a Park. I like parks especially with trails, usually nothing more than 2 miles. Hoping to do this after dinner during the week.

Go to the Library. I'm trying to get my kids to read for an hour a day. New material is a must.

Be creative. Tie dye. Finger paints. Messy things that can be done outside.

Play with friends. Inviting people over to play with us or meeting them out somewhere.

Biweekly:

Have a Backyard Bonfire. I love this as much as the kids.

Go on a date. Self explanatory.

Group Kid Activity. I'd like to take small groups of my kids out. Maybe just the big girls, or the oldest two/middles on some adventures. Thinking of canoeing/paddle boating or other things that are tough with little ones around.

Visit a Museum. For us this is usually the big outdoor museum nearby, but could also work with indoor options when it is extra hot or rainy.

Invite friends over for dinner. I'm not great at this, but I want to be better and summer is as good a time as any to work on hospitality.

With a little big of intention, building a sensational summer. Living this little life to the absolute fullest and being so grateful for every moment.





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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

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Simple. Sane

I've been exhausted lately and I'm not sure what to do about it.

I don't get up early by the standards of most - between 7 and 8, usually. I try to stay up late-ish to get some alone time but mostly fall asleep on the couch around 10, knitting in hand. I work out most days, and while that gives me a little burst of energy to get through my day, I mostly feel so tired. I've been brushing it off and trying to ignore it, but last night I lay in bed and thought - I'm so tired of this. So tired of being tired. I'm not even pregnant for goodness sakes! Something needs to change.

The thing of it is, I'm not sure what. I don't feel like I am really overextending myself. We are not a mad-dash family. Most days we are home all day. I'm not driving here and there, over-scheduled and stressed. I know I should be drinking more water, but beyond that I'm a bit nonplussed. Maybe this is just what life is like in your 30s? Exhausted.

Last week we took off school completely unintentionally. I just couldn't rev up to get it done. This week we are moving into what I hope to be an all-summer school schedule. I'm printing off math drill sheets and calling it good to keep skills up and assigning summer reading. That.Is.It. I'm making up a chart for the kids to check off and bribing them with the promise of ice cream outings if they get the work done. Mainly, I'm taking a break from instructing and just having them maintain, hopefully on their own. Simple. Sane. I'm hoping it is just enough for us, with ample breathing room for playing outside and working in the garden, knitting and reading, writing and, hopefully, resting.

The last few years have been an emotional and mental rollercoaster and I'm finally facing down the possibility that I might just not be as strong and impervious as I think I am. It is almost a comforting truth, one that I'm relieved to acknowledge. It's ok to need rest. To step back. To be gentle with myself and to work to find a way through today where I'm not giving until I give out.

Simple. Sane. Space to breathe and be still and respect my human frailty as part of life.

Today, knitting on my Eyeblink out on the deck, watching my kids play. Reading a little bit from Missional Motherhood.  And calling it good.


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The Desires of My Heart

“Thou hast formed us for Thyself, and our hearts are restless till they find rest in Thee.” 

(Augustine, Confessions (Book 1)

"Mom, we need to move to a bigger house. Look how tiny this living room is!"

Fiona gestures our one, catch all family room/living room/library. Dinah glances over, her focus momentarily distracted from the tv where they are watching House Hunters.

"Maybe not big," she adds, and I think for a moment I'll have an ally. But then - "...but at least 4 bedrooms. At least, Mom."

It doesn't happen often. For the most part, we are a pretty content bunch. But every once in a while, it comes up. And these little kids of mine, they dream and they yearn. My answer is always the same.

"You can go ahead and ask God for a new house. It's up to Him."

Today Fiona fires back - "Yeah, but he won't answer."

I know a little bit about desire. I know a little bit about envy and looking around wondering - well, God? Why not me? What not that? Why not?

I know a little bit of wanting a concrete answer, spelled out in language that I can understand. God doesn't work that way. Although it is hard to explain to a 9 year old who just wants her Mama to have a big kitchen with a walk in pantry and shiny new appliances, it's better.

I know she won't get it if I explain to her - God has given us some crazy good gifts. Indeed, I can see how the desires of my heart have been granted. How he works to gently align my desires with His will in the way a good parent does. How He grows me in contentment and peace a little more each day, each year. How He holds my disappointments, no matter how shallow, in understanding.

At night, I climb the stairs. To my right, three boys asleep in their shared bedroom. To my left, three girls in theirs. Safe, warm, healthy, happy. Together. What could be better than that?

It has taken a long time to get to this place, but it is a good and peaceful place to be. Not settling, or mere acceptance, but a place of gratitude. We are where we are meant to be.

My days are filled with the people and things I love the most, with a fair bit of freedom to be myself within it. I read to my babies. I knit. I bake. I play outside. I work out. I talk on the phone to my best friends. I watch my kids becoming the best of friends with one another. My husband comes home and these days our relationship is the best it has ever been. Grown strong and growing stronger - not from ease, but from the bedrock of trial and mutual commitment. It's better than just good. It's incredible.

But at the very top, even if all the rest of this falls away, I have Him. And that, that is where the truest and deepest desire of my heart is fulfilled: to be fully known and wholly loved.

In this year of Abide, I'm entering a place of calm and peace and it is so, so sweet.


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Motherhood and Missions

When I woke up this morning, it looked like summer outside my window. Of course, it is Michigan, so that is hardly something to hang your hat on. Yesterday, on May 15th, my husband's birthday, it snowed. So, there's that.

Still, something about the slant of the sun through our back yard gate, sending shadows across the driveway of my Rosemary squatted down to look at an ant hill before breakfast - it spells summer. Or at least murmurs it, just loud enough for me to hear.

Yesterday was Pentecost, and our church welcomed a missionary to come speak. It may have been just what I needed to hear. I've been mired down a little in the smallness of my life lately. Feeling ineffectual. Like the purpose of my days begins and ends with the minute things of my life. Dishes. Diapers. Day in and day out. Of course, if another person said the same to me, I'd be the first to assure them of the kingdom importance of blooming right exactly where they are planted. Sometimes those truths are easier to accept for others. Why is that?

The truth is, I've paused a bit here on talking to Mothers about motherhood. It can be attributed a bit to this post, this wondering if we just might be making too much of this mother thing, this resistance against idolizing something that we shouldn't. But hearing that missionary speak yesterday reminded me - shared experience is one of the ways God uses people to touch the lives of those around them. It's how our attention is caught - wait, someone sees me? Someone gets me? Someone else is working through the same things, carrying the same burdens? There is a balance to be found, for sure, and I still need to guard against the idea that motherhood is somehow the apex of a life - but the truth is? Being a Mom is a big deal. It is incredibly consuming, and for most Moms, ignoring that huge aspect of their lives only serves to make them feel isolated. Misunderstood.

I know, because I've felt that way for a while. Isolated. Alone. Wondering if anyone out there gets where I'm coming from at all. In some ways, I can trace it back to a lull of my work here. That nagging idea that maybe what I put up on this tiny website doesn't matter to anyone but me. Wondering if it is a good use of my time, or just some sort of millenial egocentric distraction. It very well might be, and I need to constantly examine my heart and my intentions. I need to be diligent in checking myself.

Sitting in that pew yesterday, I found myself repenting of my disdain for the life God has given me. My dismissal of my post, my disregard for the small things purely because they are small, my rejection of a call on my life. I know better than that. Faithfulness in the small things is something that matters in a big way to God.

When I give Him my whole life to use, the size, scale and scope of my work ceases to matter. The only thing that gives it weight of any sort is how He chooses to use it. When I commit to that, I can stop worrying. Just do the next right thing and embrace whatever He brings along.

I speak the language of motherhood. Fluently. I know and believe that the work that mothers do each and every day matters, not because they are better than anyone else, not because they are somehow saints just by having children - but because God loves and cherishes each and every one. Through work and sacrifice, He meets and grows us. It's a beautiful thing, and a something we all need to be encouraged in. It can be a distraction, but it can also be a beautiful expression of faith, charity and love. And I know there is a purpose and a plan just for that.

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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.

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A Good Place

Every once in a while, you find yourself in a good place. A smooth place. I know it doesn't last for long, so while it is here, I am lapping it up with gusto.

We are in a time of smooth relationships, little shifts here and there as people grow and change. I notice it in how my oldest and middle boys start doing everything together, despite their 6 year gap. The oldest seems past that big kid need to distance themselves from "babies," and my middle guy is just plain thrilled to be included in everything. It's warming my heart to watch them playing soccer out in the back yard together during the day, or working on projects together in their room. It is a precious time, and it feels like a gift. My oldest will be 13 this summer, and I know that we are in for a lot of big changes. Good things. Growing into a man - things. But this holding space of childhood and brothers bonding is doing my Mama heart good.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing enough, preaching enough, lecturing enough about how we are meant to live. But then my sons bring me a coke they bought with their own little stores of quarters, or my daughters surprise me with picking up one of my chores and completing it beautifully for me, just because - and I see how life is teaching and growing them in a lovely, natural way. I see them reaching out beyond themselves in generosity and I'm so humbled by the people they are becoming.

We are in a time of smooth schooling. Our co op is over for the year, and I'm grateful to be able to just focus on what we do here. We've gradually switched everyone over to Saxon math (formerly we did horizons) and I am absolutely loving it. I was able to skip two of my kids a complete grade up. We are still opening our days with daily bible readings and prayers from my Laudate app, and our read aloud is "Calico Captive" by Elizabeth George. The littles draw, play with blocks or cars or the play kitchen or have older siblings fold paper airplanes for them while I read. It isn't quiet, but it is us, altogether. I'm soaking it in.

As the days get warmer and brighter, I'm trying to ease out of some of the patterns we found ourselves in. I had fallen into the habit of turning on a show for the preschoolers first thing in the morning to give me time and space to caffienate and get my head on straight. Today, I avoided it. And we didn't miss it one bit. We are taking on more projects and slowly adapting our little house to the large family who lives here. This weekend we moved out the boys dressers and replaced them with an ikea shelving unit, which more than doubled the available space in their room. I'm ordering this table to serve as a desk for my oldest. Amazingly, this little home still manages to work for us as our family grows. Not perfectly, of course. But I'm so very thankful.

It seems impossible, but in less than 2 weeks our little Magnolia blossom will be 1 year old. I know we always say "children are blessings!" but never have I felt that to be more true than with our 7th baby, who came to us during a dark desperate time in our family. God did that thing of His - that seemingly backwards way of His that doesn't make a lot of sense to the world - and He gave us the gift of love when we needed it most. Who gets pregnant in the midst of job uncertainty, relationship crisis and and financial instability? God's ways are foolishness to men. During the "worst possible time," God gave us the best possible answer. She is our crowning jewel. I'm knitting her a little birthday dress and getting in as many baby cuddles as I can.

"...God chose the weak things to shame the strong." 1 Cor 1:27

The whole of our lives makes little sense to the outside world. But I'm finding that really is meaningless to me. I'm here, every day. And even through the rough times, we are so abundantly blessed.

So, a good place. A smooth time. Grace, grace, grace and more grace. Thank you, Jesus.


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Some Kind of Wonderful

Peter slips on his shoes (or not) and heads out the door right after breakfast. I catch up with him around lunch and push a peanut butter sandwich into his hands before he's gone again, tooling around the back yard on that hand me down big wheel, squatting in the dirt and poking at bugs with a stick or working on his pumping technique on the swings. At dinner, he begs to eat outside.

We've had maybe three 70 degree days total so far this year, but you can't convince this guy it's not summer. He has moved into sandals and shorts and refuses to look back, even when the temperatures plummet into the 50's and freezing puddles form in the driveway. To this 4 year old, summer is here and our little yard is calling him, the magnetic siren song more than he can resist. He's out the door first thing in the morning and dragged in reluctantly at dusk.

Having kids is sometimes the reminder I need that the world is a wonderful place. I'm prone to sad spirals of hopelessness, but their enthusiasm is infectious. The reminder to look up, breathe deep, embrace the grace - it's a message my kids deliver to me like a fistful of dandelion blooms on that first warm day of spring, as comforting at the gentle roar of the lawn mower two houses over. When my insides are all tempest and trouble, it's the invitation to step out of myself for a moment, away from fear and darkness and into the sunshine.

It's a sermon that is best taught by accident, unintentionally. It's how lives lived wild with love, gratitude and peace pierce those around them with tender hope. Not because it is lectured, shamed or bidden, but because it is effortless. Free.

It's preached in her laugh when her sister pushes her on the swing. In the sidewalk chalk drawings that welcome daddy home. In young minds with vibrant imagination and days long pretend play.

Springtime with my kids is alive with Gospel truths when nothing is further from their minds. Life is good. Love wins. All is grace.

Like a four year old barefoot in the driveway, chucking rocks into a rain puddle for the sheer joy of watching the ripples they make.


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Motherhood and Guiltless Leisure

This afternoon, after the chores and school were done and everyone was having their own quiet play time, after I settled the preschoolers with a show and after I switched over the laundry, I made a quick cup of coffee and settled on the back porch with a copy of Image magazine that I received as a birthday gift.

I don't read much these days, but as I thumbed through the pages and caught a few breathless sentences, I felt a familiar stirring inside me. Comfort. The warmth of the mug and the the words on the page, the soft breeze and the surrounding silence...for a few moments, anyway. I savored what I read and when the coffee was gone, it was time to head back in. My time outside alone couldn't have been more than ten minutes, but the space, perspective and peace that resulted is carried along with me.

The conundrum of motherhood and leisure is that we either get none, and wind up soul-starved, or what we do get we lace in guilt. Surely, I have other things to do. Who am I to take a moment in the middle of an afternoon to sit and read?

Leisure and motherhood don't have to be mutually exclusive or fraught with guilt. They shouldn't be. I find that the things I choose to spend my precious little personal time are, for the most part, things that make me a better person. Things that expand my horizon, cement my relationships, bring me closer to God.

This wasn't always the case. There was a time in my life when relaxing in front of mindless television was my preferred evening activity, and to be completely honest I still enjoy some of that - though not nearly as often as before. I realized - the fallacy here is that you can take time off. Sure, you can halt any activity of importance or weight, but you can't hit the pause button on time. Time marches on, and the older I get the more I realize how blessed little of it there is.

Perhaps the overwhelmingly positive that I take away from this is that those things that I sometimes feel a bit guilty about, the things that feel like a luxurious indulgence - afternoons sipping coffee with a girlfriend talking while our kids play out back, an evening out with my husband, a nap on a sun speckled Sunday, going out for a beer with my siblings - these things aren't "just" private indulgences with no value. They are intentional acts that improve the rest of my life and the lives around me. They take time, yes, but they are worth time. They are full of real life.

The Moms I know garden for fun while their little ones help out, or sit outside and do a bible study while their kids swing on the swings. They knit at craft nights and in doing so create much needed community for themselves and others. Even when they aren't multi tasking, they are giving themselves the breathing room necessary to be the strong, courageous, life changing warriors that they are. We need that. The people in our lives need us to have that.

It's not that we "deserve" leisure by our merit and hard work. It is that our work, our vision, our calling is positively impacted when we make it a priority.

It's time to start dinner, check homework, get things organized for co op tomorrow. I'm in a better place to tackle it then I was before.


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Anatomy of a Good Day

Friday Afternoon.

I'm putting away the last of the schoolbooks for the last time this week. Folding that last load of laundry, straightening up the house, hoping that my gentle movements will coax another nap from the baby on my back.

 Outside, my kids are wild. Wild with sun-made vitamin D coursing through their veins, the glory of shoeless dashing about, how the swing feels at the very highest point and the joy of screaming at top volume without their mother losing her mind. The littles bring me fistfuls of blue flowers. Fiona comes in with a splinter. Dinah's stretched out under a tree with a book and an apple and the boys have turned every stick they find into a swashbuckling sword. Wild, I tell you.

Spring does that to us. Everything, everything feels and smells and is new. Even the mundane, every day things have a sort of new energy. We get up earlier and seize each day with gusto. Spring fever has infected us, one and all.

Yeah, we've had a couple of good days. Even as I type that, I'm aware that somewhere along this path, my definition must have changed. They haven't been seamlessly smooth, without wrinkle or hiccup or apologies, the way I used to think a good day must be. I'm over that. I no longer give myself passing grades for smooth and clean and devoid of interruption or mess. I no longer let it all hinge on how we measure up - as kids, as parents, as spouses. But even after I moved beyond this narrow definition of a "good day," I still struggled a bit.

For a while there, the label of "Good Day" would be adhered only when I could see concrete evidence of God's love. But you know how that is - it's always present. There is always something. Even on the darkest days, I could find it. Something pretty, or something special, or something small. Even when I wasn't feeling it at all, I could find it, pay lip service - yet still come up empty.  What is a good day anyway?

I have a new definition. A good day is one where my head knowledge goes a bit deeper. Yeah, pierces right there in my heart. A day where I not only know all's grace, but I reach out with open hands to accept it. It doesn't require perfection. It doesn't require completed checklists or health or kids who get along or me to not let my temper get the better of me.

A good day is not one where I can see the gifts like I'm looking through a screen, acknowledging their presence as a truth but held at an arms' length. A good day is one where I cradle them all close, in all their wild and wonderful ways, and know with a deep and abiding knowledge that drives deep into my heart that He is for Me. For Us. For-Ever.

Neat and tidy perfection could never hold a candle to the madcap marvel of a life lived with arms flung open in acceptance to all the ways He loves us.

It's Spring time here and I've got 7 pair of dirty feet about to trek back through the house I just swept clean. It's a good day.

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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.}

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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

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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.


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Losing Myself

I woke up in the middle of the night with the toddler's arms around my neck, her cheek pressed right up against mine and one leg flung across my chest - while I was nursing the baby who was pinching me at the same time.

I used to think the idea that mothering is 24/7 was a little bit overdone, a gripe for people who needed to legitimize their role as mother as "the hardest job in the world." I mean, of course we are on call for our kids at all times, but sleep does exist (even if it is in small doses) and there are those moments of quiet knitting and netflix with my husband and even the odd evening out of the house here and there. I get to grocery shop alone. It's not that intense, right? The thing is, back when I brushed off the idea of mothering as a 24/7 occupation, I had a lot less patience for the interruptions. The constant neediness. The plans gone awry and the devastation of the whole family coming down with a virus.

The past week has been non stop. Even as I write that, I feel the need to amend it. The past month, then? Year? The past 13 years? I think I may have caught my breath at some point a year or so ago but I'm not altogether sure...but no matter. I'm making peace with the intensity. When I expect to be on call 24/7, irritation doesn't arise as readily when that call actually comes. When I wake up to a toddler who has once again snuck out of her bed and into mine, my knee jerk reaction isn't to feel touched out anymore. When I come to expect to be needed and held onto at all times, I become a gentler Mama. I untangle myself from her grasp and carry her back to bed but I'm not upset at the interruption. This is just how this goes.

There is nothing to complain about when you expect to be poured out. It is only when your expectations aren't met that you get that creeping feeling of dissatisfaction. Sometimes I think we are so worried not to paint motherhood as drudgery that we do a huge disservice and swing wildly the other way, assuring young mothers to be that they won't lose themselves in the process - and when they inevitably do, pave the way to more disillusionment and discontent.

The miracle of it all is just this - that in losing yourself, your need to be in control, your need to know the outcomes, your desire to hold on to some pre-child version of yourself who was able to pick and choose exactly when and where to serve others (or not) - you gain so much more than you could ever imagine possible. Holding back and sealing off parts of yourself will only lead to atrophy. Why not give it all you've got? What are these gifts for if not giving away?

I may not get uninterrupted sleep now or in the foreseeable future, but I am adored beyond reason by these precious little ones. The gift of their lives entwining with mine is something that I will never regret and always treasure for as long as I live. Not because it went according to my plans, or was on my terms. But because by being completely opened to it, I received more than I could have ever asked for.

The best thing I ever did was lose myself. And every day I'll do it again and again and again.




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