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.

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Spark Light

Last week a friend of mine lost and buried a beloved daughter to her struggle with depression. There hasn't been a day since that they haven't been on my mind.

As a mother with a kid heading to high school in the fall, I am just now becoming acquainted with the idea that my little ones, they're growing up and away from me. Their struggles are no longer the sort that are played out in front of me, like when they were little and any heartache could be solved with a cuddle or nap. It can be tempting to think that "I'm fine" really means just that. But I know better.

I vividly remember my life as a teen. Despite being a happy kid in a wonderful family, I had my own bouts with anxiety and confusion. Emotions that seemed insurmountable at the time. I still have those moments today. It's natural and normal, but, like a toddler's tantrum, it requires a constructive response. A message that is consistent and true.

How many times have I walked through life assuming people in my life know how I feel about them without verbalizing it at all? How often have I, on the other side, just needed a simple reminder? Someone to notice. Someone to care.

As someone who is wired for affirmation, I've often felt embarrassed by my need for encouragement. As if requiring a reminder made me some monster egomaniac. I no longer believe that. People are made to be love and to receive love. And while there are a variety of ways that that plays out depending on temperament and personality, none is more virtuous than another. It all comes down to connection.

It's not enough to say I didn't know you needed that. We all need it. We all know it. We know that it isn't always enough to know intellectually that we are unconditionally loved. We need to hear it. To be reminded over and over and over again.

It seems overly simplistic. Stupidly so.

Be love. Spark light. Stop looking around for your mission field and remember that the people in your life right now, today? They are your purpose. Your challenge. Your responsibility. Be committed to that.

If you need help, find someone, anyone, tell them, ask for it. This struggle against darkness and pain is best fought with people on your side. We belong to each other.

Hey, you. You're a miracle, God breathed, made for love, unique and gifted, infused with purpose for glory and good. Your life matters. Your heart matters. Your struggles matter. Your quiet and desperate moments, your sparks of joy - they touch the world around you, even when you are so sure that no one sees.

You are too precious to be lost.




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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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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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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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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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Onward, Together

March came in like a lion here in Michigan, despite February flirting with springtime temps, making us think maybe, just maybe, we were done with winter. I'm oddly ok with it. Despite being my favorite season, I'm not quite ready for Spring yet (which is something I never thought I'd say). There's something about snow after the winter solstice when the days start to lengthen again. Instead of blue twilights, it's all golden mornings with the sun glinting across a brilliant diamond encrusted world, making ordinary things (swingset, basketballs, abandoned lawn chairs) seem somehow regal. I wake up and look out the kitchen window toward my Mom's house and feel like, maybe just for right now, that I'm facing the right direction.

There's no small thing about heading the right way. Rightness is such a centered feeling and one that I feel is more slippery in my grasp these days than it once was.

February in a little house full to the brim with children always stretches me in so many ways. God created families as the perfect training ground for sanctification and, goodness, if we don't brush up against that as often as humanly possible. If I can get past the irritation and annoyance of watching 7 personalities bounce off each other (and me) all day long, I can see the good it is yielding. The growth it inspires.

A few days ago, some of my Mama friends and I were talking about siblings squabbles, and I realized something: all siblings fight in some way. Most siblings fight physically, even when we all think they are way too old for that nonsense and have been modeling (and preaching) "We don't hit! Gentle hands! Be kind!" for as long as they've been able to execute such an action. As natural a part of growing up as Maggie's first wobbly attempts at standing is giving your brother an elbow in the stomach when he's annoying you. It is 100% normal. Yet I see my friends stressing and worrying and feeling like they have to do something to keep their four year old sister-smacker into a future felon.

Perhaps that is one of the most maddening things about parenting. We are so entrenched in the idea that there is certainly something that one can do to make a change in every situation that when we show up to parent our kids and find ourselves endless repeating the same things we've been saying for 13 years with seemingly little result, we don't know what to do. We keep on trying, keep on making rules and reward charts and doling out consequences and feeling completely flummoxed when behavior doesn't seem to change. We have that sinking feeling that we are failing them. 

The truth is, this is God's work to be done in His way that rarely makes sense to mere mortals. 

This winter, I've been praying to see the good in my children. The things they are getting right. It has changed my view and made me fall so deeply in love with these people. You see, God has begun a work in them. Just like He began one in me. The thing about the flaws in kids is that they are things we see right out front, like sibling squabbles and back talking. Pretty benign stuff compared to the sins adults hide deep inside, behind a carefully crafted veneer. There is a temptation in raising children to see only the naughty things. The things that threaten to embarrass us in public. The things that reflect badly on us. When we narrow our focus to just that and train not with the heart in mind but the appearance, we miss so much. This verse has been laid on my heart in regards to my kids and challenges me every day:

"If you, Lord, kept a record of sins, who could stand? But there is forgiveness with you..."

Psalm 130:3-4

My job is not to be my children's savior. They've got one and it isn't me. It isn't to change their hearts or even their behavior. It is to train them, yes, lead them, model gospel to them, admonish them, point them in the right direction and help them up when they stumble. But change in a person, in a heart, is something that only the Maker of the Universe can set into motion. The same one who tilts us towards the sun and changes blue twilights into golden mornings. I've noticed something in my children lately - particularly the older ones. The more I relax my grasp and, instead, invite them into life with me, the more astonished I am to see them rising to the occasion with kindness, confidence, love.  They are generous, thoughtful, hardworking. They serve and love with patience that I could learn from. My view of God can be so narrow - almost narcissistic, that I can begin to believe that without my forcing them down a certain path, they'll never find it on their own. I forget that each one of them has their own relationship with Him - and that it is quite frankly not something I'm involved in.

At the baptism of one of my many wonderful family members, my pastor-cousin remarked that, in God's economy, we are all brothers and sisters. Yes, even freshly baptized babies and wizened seminarians. We are meant to walk together on this path, not boss and lecture and fuss at our little ones into loving Jesus. We're made to encourage. Made to love. Not made to save, but made to head the right way.

Onward. Together.




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Love Letters

Today repairs on our house required that we vacate the premises. Not for the first time I was relieved that my parents live right behind me and were gracious enough to give us the run of their place. We packed up schoolbooks for four kids, snacks and lunch things, knitting, baby carriers, art supplies, read alouds. All the things that a day with my crew requires - and made our way over.

 Although we are doing our normal things, the change of location is actually a welcome reprieve from another frigid winter day inside, battling boredom and cabin fever. The big kids are looking forward to a game of "life" after school is over. The littles helped me mix up a batch of sugar cookies for Valentines. The baby is blessedly napping after a long night and I'm just happy to be here. Playing house in my childhood home where my seven kids remind me so much of what it was like back then. It's almost like peeking into the past, except I'm no longer one of those kids. Entering my mother's world, I get a birds eye view of what her days were like - and gain a new appreciation for my own. 

For all the scuffles and noise and, goodness, humanity that we mamas put up with - we are the witnesses to such glory. We witness fledgling humans figuring out just how this life thing works in the best school there is: family. Our work is merely the crafting of home, which is the cultivating of love. And whether that takes place in my mamas sprawling 200 year old Greek Rivival home or in my little cape cod right behind, the work is the same. Echoing God's heart means putting people first, always. Welcoming each one like the love letter they are into our lives. 

Valentine's is around the corner and we're cutting out paper hearts and I'm wondering at how the Creator knew how to craft a mamas heart to expand and expand and expand endlessly, able to wrap around each and every one of these gifts. 

This day, these precious ones. All glory. All grace. 

Advent, Differently

"Mom, can I have some cereal?"

It's long after dinner. Dinner that, despite cajoling and bargaining, my four year old really didn't eat much of. This has been his modus operandi as of late - not hungry for dinner, but almost as soon as I finish cleaning up and settle myself on the sofa for a tiny nugget of relaxation - suddenly is hungry.

Usually, I'm annoyed.

Usually, I say no.

"You wouldn't be hungry now if you just ate your dinner! The kitchen is closed!" My normal response.

But tonight, tonight feels different. I look down into those chocolate chip eyes fringed with Mr. Snuffleupagus eyelashes and sigh heavy. "Cereal?" I say. He nods, hopeful. It's almost 9 pm. I'm sick and my feet are sore and my arms are tired and I'm ready to throw in the towel on this day, not make another mess. "Grab the milk and I'll get you some." His face erupts in a smile like the countenance of angels at my yes. My yes.

An act of mercy, this. Cereal mere moments before bed. Cereal after the dishwasher has begun it's cycle.

It seems to be a theme of my Advent this year. Mercy. Mercy.

This year has mercied me. Don't I always feel that way? Perhaps. For one reason or another, each year is impossibly hard, and this one is no different. Right up to the end, difficulty surprising me, forcing me to contemplate a response, to scramble for a say. This year, this Advent, I'm pleading for mercy.

Although the candles have been lit a pathetic two times since the beginning, although I've been bedridden and beside myself and broken down - there does seem to be an aspect of mercy that I've been noticing here. Most notably, in how I regard my children.

Swaying a sick toddler to sleep. Mercy. A bowl a cereal I so desperately don't want to wash. Mercy. A care package sent to my bed from my sweet sister in law. Mercy.

The thing is, I dispense mercy daily to those on the outside of my family, but here in the inner workings where I'm desperate for discipline and heartsick over heart issues, I can forget. As He is so merciful to me, grant them mercy. In this home, for these babies - mercy.

Mercy for little scamps who prefer cereal over spaghetti. Merciful to my spouse. Merciful to myself. Merciful every day, in everything.

Be merciful, just as your Father in heaven is merciful.

Luke 6:36

A mere week before Christmas before it dawns on me how different this Advent has been. But maybe a different sort of Advent is just the sort I needed? A crash course in mercy. A Christ who can redeem a world of broken and lost people can surely redeem all of my mistakes.  My pathetic Advent.

Advent is the wait before the miracle. In that way, it's almost as if I've been adventing for years.

Wait, my love. And while you wait? Be merciful.

Trusting Him with this, then, too.

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Life, Generously - A Primer for the Holidays and Beyond

We picked up that little tree on our way home from church on Sunday. The kids decorated it Monday, chattering about gifts and wrapping paper and secrets. It's the second week of Advent and we're all leaning in. It's a lovely thing.

With the shopping catalogs this time of year, the giving catalogs begin showing up too. Samaritan's Purse, Compassion International - these are some of my kids' favorite "look books" this time of year. Page after page filled with images of bright eyed children from far flung countries of the world beckon us into a different thought process. Is there space in our life for generosity? What does that look like for a family like ours, with little extras?

Generosity isn't all about tangible gifts, lavish monetary donations. Generosity was never meant to be relegated to a certain time of year in anticipation of tax season right behind. Each and every day we are called to live generously. In some ways, by comparison, buying a family a goat costs us much less. My kids exclaim over the cute animals in the pictures while I think about generosity. Long after we select one, how can I live generously?

Be generous...with your time.

Busyness is so prevalent in our society and even here in our little home, I get swept up. Especially at this time of year. I simply don't have time to do it all, to be all. Honestly? It kinda rips at my joy. I confessed my sister as we drove home from shopping through the fog, "Sometimes Christmas feels like just one more thing set on top of all the other things I need to do. And it feels a lot like a job." That right there is a self inflicted burden. Generosity of time means being content with what and who God has set in your life for this moment. It means yes, you DO have time to make dinner for that family who just had a baby, or to sit a little bit longer with a sibling, or to take a phone call from an old friend in need of encouragement. Be generous with your time and you'll wind up so blessed.

Be generous...with your attitude.

My husband attempted to put lights on the tree this year. An hour or so later I came down to see how he was getting along and let's just say...it wasn't how I would have done it. I wish I could say I reacted generously, but I really didn't. I certainly alluded to his way being wrong, maybe even the worst idea ever. I took over (to his apparent relief) and finished it myself...but afterward I felt a prickle of regret much sharper than those pine needles stabbing at my hands. Is it so hard to be kind? Does it cost my anything to keep my annoyance under wraps? What is gained by showing your displeasure at small, insignificant things? Be generous with your attitude, kind and encouraging.

Be generous...with your prayers.

A few weeks ago at church, we had a sermon about prayer which, I will admit, is one of my weaker areas of loving people. How often do I say "I'm praying for you!" and then not really know what to say? But I want to be generous - constant - in prayer for the people who enter my life. Today a friend messages me for a knitting pattern and tells me about the 7 year old she's creating for - a precious little one with cancer. And I ask for her name and right then and there set her before God, pray his strength and light all around her. I don't give Him a list of the fixes I want - but I just set her just there and let His presence engulf her. It's not up to me to know what to pray for. When I'm freed from that, I can be all the more generous with prayer. (pray with me? For a precious little child losing her hair to chemo at Christmas?)

Be generous...with your love.

Ever since my best friend moved this Fall, I've felt a little catch in my heart when beginning to get close to others. Like a little warning sign. "Don't get too close! Don't get too involved! Danger! You might get hurt!" I know that these feelings, while certainly understandable, fly in the face of how life is meant to be lived. Generously. There is no relationship that brings with it the guarantee of being forever pain free. Love anyway. Love is not self seeking - or self preserving. Love is self giving. The greatest example of this is of course Jesus, who loved His way all the way through death and back. Be recklessly generous in how you love others.

Be generous...with your joy.

There are always conversations swirling around in mothering circles about how much to share with others. Do we tell just the good stuff and risk making others think we have it all together? Or do we pile on the dirt to remind each other "I'm just like you!" and run the risk of being overly negative and ungrateful? I think the answer is somewhat simple when you acquaint yourself with what joy is...and what it is not. Joy is not present only in the perfect. Joy can be found in all things when you live with hope, grounded in grace. It balances the "real life" stuff and the "Pollyanna" stuff perfectly. With joy, I can share apprehension at a new struggle while magnifying the great gift of the opportunity to cling more closely to God. With joy, I can share the mess the toddlers made while acknowledging that even on the most exhausting days, God is all good and we are all loved. Joy is contagious and desperately needed in this world. It's the witness of our joy filled lives that showcases the upside down, miraculous message of God's great grace, rich love, endless comfort. Be generous with your joy.

Being generous requires us to live wholly dependent on God for all of our needs - emotional, physical, spiritual. It's a practice that will take a life time of daily intention to incorporate, but one I hope to continue chiseling at, day after day after day.



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The One Thing Every Kid Should Know

I revamped our chores a bit this fall, and we are finally getting a good handle on how it goes. I set the kids up in teams, an older paired with a younger, and had them rotate three main jobs - Bathrooms, Laundry and Kitchen, with each team tackling each job twice weekly. My 6 year old took one look at my chart and said "but what are you going to do, Mom?" I assured him that there was still plenty of work left for me. I find myself helping out in all these areas and more, of course, but it wasn't until this evening that I discovered one perk I hadn't even planned on.

Fiona was on kitchen duty, so she was peeling potatoes and handing them to me to cut up for dinner. I turned on some music and the two of us sang along together and I thought - this is my favorite part of being a Mom. These moments where we are just together in real life. When I think about growing up in a family not too unlike the one I'm growing, I remember feeling the same. My favorite moments were those where I felt like I was exactly where I belonged. 

The new rotation of chores sees me folding laundry, making dinner, cleaning bathrooms with each kid twice weekly in some capacity. To my 6 year old's amazement, yes, I'm still somehow involved in these chores every day but to mine? I'm enjoying them more than I had ever thought possible because I'm getting to work shoulder to shoulder with these people in turn and get to bond with them in a special way.

Fiona finished up and ran off to find her sister while I finished up dinner, thinking about raising kids in that security, that deep held knowledge of belonging, but more than that - of being cherished.

The one thing every kid should know is that they are prized. Not that they are little monarchs, incapable of doing wrong, or dictators that must be obeyed. Every kid should know that they are of the utmost importance, and because of that, they are worthy of protection - yes, even protection from themselves. I wonder if mine know that. That I say no to things because I cherish them more than I fear their disappointment. I prize them more than I do their approval of my parenting. It's a constant battle for me, with my people-pleasing personality. I do so want to be liked by my children. Loving them more than myself demands that I set that aside for their sake. Because sometimes prizing someone is doing the hard, right thing.

Navigating middle school has been eye opening and no, I have no idea if I'm doing it right. I'm sure parenting a high schooler will stretch me even more. The world outside worries me, yes, but the world inside each of my kids concerns me the most. I know that I want each of them to know at the very core of themselves that they are treasured by their Heavenly Father - and seen as more precious than anything on earth to me.

The one thing every kid should know is the one thing I hope to press on the hearts of my children:

You are more valuable to me than anything else in this world. Nothing could ever be more precious to me than you. I would give it all away for you, risk your disappointment and your anger to protect you as the deeply cherished soul that you are. And I will never stop loving you.

I wonder, if every child knew this - if the world would be a different place.


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Off The Beaten Path

A car. A life vest. A trailer. The smell of sunscreen and bug spray. The feeling of the sun-scorched sand beneath your feet and the sweeping lake breeze whipping your hair. The sound of the waves at night.

Are these my children's memories or mine?

Happily - both.

This past week we went off grid and leapt through waves and put kites in the sky. We climbed dunes and watched the sun light up the sky all pinky purple at the end of the day. We slept soundly and close together. We licked ice cream and chased seagulls and climbed nature trails.

A family trip is many things to a Mama, but it is very rarely a vacation. Indeed, I did at least a load of laundry a day, nursed a sick baby for the first few days, washed dishes and made meals and if I thought I'd get much of a rest I would have been sorely disappointed. But the truth is, I didn't go on this trip for me. I did it for them - all for them.

And the beauty of giving without expectation is the abundance of what you get when you aren't looking to receive.

So I tuck into my little stash of memories the new ones I found this year.

Them riding that driftwood down the shore.

Her footprints in the sand

His face when he held that big fat toad

Basketball with Dad

Monarch caterpillars and the boy who loved them

My mom rocking my baby to sleep

My dad holding her dimpled toddler hand

The peace of shutting out the noisy world, tuning out and turning in to see the beauty of every created thing and the sure closeness of the One who holds them all for me to see.


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How To Dress A Girl You Love

I knit it for her when she was still inside, feathery fingering weight yarn in purest magnolia-white that just seem to go on forever, thousands of tiny stitches spelling out love. On Saturday I sewed on the two vintage glass buttons my cousin gave me from her grandmother's collection. On Sunday, I slipped it over her downy head in the nursery at church, moments before the start of the service. She slept soundly, wrapped in merino wool on a Sunday in July.

Magnolia Grace joined the family of Christ on July 19th and when our pastor held her up like a prize for the whole congregation to see welcome, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Being a Mother is always about letting go, nudging forward, releasing. Being a girl is always a gamble. Even in a country without sex selective practices and cultural preference for boys, being a girl is a risk. A liability. A marginalized state. Even in a country where girls can attend college or procure employment, they are objectified, labeled and boxed in from day one.

I have four daughters, a fact that can bring me to my knees with anxiety. Not because I don't adore each of my precious girls, but because I do. Because I want more for them than this world, this country, this culture can offer them. The pastor holds my girl up and I breathe easier because I remember - she's in His hands now.

I loved my girl Maggie before I ever saw her dear little face, held her tightly to my breast and inhaled her magical baby smell. Before I saw her, I knew her - kicking deep inside me while I crafted her grace-garment. I think about God on a dark night and how He's made one for me, too, something I'll never grow out of, something that expands as I age, something that I can put on every single day and hold close each and every night.

It's the only way I can navigate this world, with all it's clamoring seductions and sadness. Slipping on that garment of grace the only way I can bear to live another moment as one sin-sick human loving others similarly afflicted.

Something big enough to hold me and those I come in contact with. Something that is never too small to cover all. Every stress, panic attack, fear, sin, failing. Every heartbreak. Each and every thing swaddles snugly within the grace garment He wove especially for me.

My Magnolia sleeps soundly on my bed and I seal up her special gown, tuck it away in the closet until she's ready to pass it on. That's how grace works. It's never just for us. It's always big enough to be given away and my little Grace, she'll give it away someday - to a daughter or a niece or a granddaughter. That's how it's made to work. It is handed down from one generation to the next and we pass it on to one another like a talisman to guide us through, a solid promise that He will always be enough - for me, for her, for everyone who we come in contact with.

Knowing He is ever present and she is always, always swathed in purest white grace that comes from only one place.


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These Days...

How is it already midsummer? My best friend asked me conversationally if I'd given any thought to this fall's curriculum. I resisted to the urge to laugh/cry. Oh, mercy. Each and every day has enough trouble for itself and I'm sure I'll get a plan together the week before we start (maybe).  My brother and a dear friend from High School are both getting married in early fall. Our family vacation is in August through the beginning of September. I'm still in a post partum fog (yes, still. And no, I have no intention of pulling out any time soon) and life just keeps throwing curveballs faster than I can catch them. No, I don't have my curriculum planned, but I do have faith it will come together like it always does. These days, well...

~ The three oldest kids are gone for a few days with Grandpa up at Fish Camp and the 6 and under set and I are finding our new normal to be reprised later this summer when the big kids head south with the other set of grandparents. I wonder if I'll look back at this summer being the beginning of a shift, the year where our little family found ourselves divided up more and more. I miss my older kids more than I can say when they are away, but I'm reveling in this time with the younger set, watching Jonah have a chance to be the oldest and enjoying the dynamic of my two little boys and two little girls getting along (or not). We are consuming an obscene amount of popsicles, we had an ER visit on the very first day and both J and I are falling into bed exhausted at the end of every day. Oh, yes, I miss those big kids!

~ This weekend J's parents will be in town and Magnolia will finally be baptized. I'll admit to a bit of a panic at the thought of trying to get us all dressed appropriately and behaving appropriately at the front of the church in front of God and everyone at 10 am this Sunday - but then I had a little smack of perspective. Even if Rosie refuses to wear shoes and Pete tries to make a grand escape and Maggie spits up all over her lovingly handknit christening gown - God will still show up. The congregation watching might get a little glimpse into what it really means to be open to life and love and family. I might get another hit of humility, something I could always use more of. Framed that way, it doesn't sound that bad, right? (But please, Rosie - wear shoes! I promise you can take them off in the pew!)

~ Today my oldest is 12. That means this is the last year of life before teenagers. I'm not ready. I'm so not ready that I can get myself quite worked up about the whole business, so instead I'm focusing on all the things I love about this boy. His confidence, kindness, thoughtfulness, his gentle little soul. He's got more than a touch of his Mama's sarcasm, fiery temper (sorry, son) and sparkling comedic wit (you're welcome), but mostly he is his father's son. 12 years ago I didn't know how to be a Mother. He was the start of the adventure. He will always be the gift who began it all. I'm grateful for every day that he is mine.

~ My knitting has been stalled out for quite some time. I'd start something, change my mind, frog, start something else, change my mind again...on and on and on. I finally decided to knit Rosemary a "Granny's Favorite" like the one I knit for Fiona in Mosaic Moon's "Rosebud" semi solid. The color is perfect for fall, not to mention for my dark eyed girlie with her beautiful brunette curls. I'm about halfway down the body and entertained for a nanosecond the idea of getting it done in time for her to wear to the baptism, but the odds of that happening are pretty much slim to none.

~ I started working out a few times a week a few weeks ago and it's really remarkable to me how quickly fitness increases if you just work at it a bit. I have very low expectations, but just try to follow the advice an old friend once gave me: Sweat every day. Get your heart rate up for at least 20 minutes and sweat every day. I've been doing about ten minutes of a Hiit workout (youtube has a ton), 10 minutes of yoga and 10 minutes of strength training a day. Sometimes it's all at once. Sometimes it's spread out throughout the day as I have a moment here or there. This week it has all been in a toy cluttered living room while hollering at Rosie not to climb under my legs and the boys joining in. Low expectations, no guilt, no babysitting, no gym. Just sweating every day. It makes me feel good, think more clearly and gives me energy, all things that are well worth the effort.

Things here are good. God is good. Life is as messy and chaotic as always, my yard is full of weeds, my kids are sticky and dirty more often than not, J's work situation may be changing again soon and we're just doing the next thing. Sometimes I step out on the back porch and just take a deep breath and close my eyes - just for a moment. Sometimes it's just enough to untie the jangled nerves and soothe my stress knotted muscles and remind me that every breath I take on this day is a miracle.

And that is good enough for me.


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