On Writing

"So...have you been writing?"

The question catches me off guard. It's been months, a year nearly, since writing has been a normal, daily thing for me. It catches me off guard like a flash of light out of the corner of your eye, lightning when you weren't even expecting rain.

It has been so long. I open my laptop every now and then, log into this blog, read a few archived posts. Sit staring a blinking cursor for a few minutes. Write a paragraph or two, fighting frustration and fear.

The fear that I've run dry, run out of things to say, stories to tell, answers to give. Maybe that's the main thing? I thought I used to know what to say. Now I'm not so sure.

Still, the questions persist. At parties, at church, in my email inbox. "I just wanted to ask...are you still writing?" I brush them off. Life got busy, you know. Kids got big. I got overwhelmed. Something had to give. But is that truly the answer?

It's not til someone poses it to me as a challenge that I let my guard down, an admonishment of sorts. The reminder that this was never just for or about me. While I ponder the thought, I realize - when you do something just for yourself, hobbies come and go. I dabble in fitness or quilting. I invest in what is enjoyable to me and leave it behind when it no longer makes me happy.

This space was never just about that. The real, raw truth is that I got selfish. I set aside something that God was using because it got uncomfortable. I shied away from hard truths and I turned my back.

On the Tuesday after Memorial Day, I log into this blog and happen to glance at the stats for the first time in forever. Blog after blog after blog boasting thousands of screen views, after I've long since abandoned this space. My heart beats faster and I scroll and scroll and scroll - evidence that it mattered. That is still does.

I stopped writing, but God didn't stop using me. Not for one day.

So I make a commitment. Just a bit each day. Easing back into it, gently. Gingerly finding my way, finding myself - again.

Holding back anxiety, clicking "post."

Feels a bit like coming home.

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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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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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Life, As It Is Now

Hi there. Remember me? I'm sorry for leaving you hanging for so long without a post. Judging from notes I've received, some of you have been concerned, or wondered if something catastrophic happened to me or the baby. All is well in that department. Baby is still safe inside and we are still looking forward to the day she joins us on the outside.

This week has been intense. There is simply no other word for it. Intense from a parenting perspective. Intense from an adult-ing perspective. Intense from a health perspective (stomach bug at 38 weeks? Sign me up! Wait, no...stop...). And intense from a "baby could be here any day and, that's right, I have 6 other kids to keep up with" perspective. A lot of it I won't be getting into here, which is why I found myself a little speechless when being consumed with life over here. Some of it just comes across as too negative, and that is really not my vision for this space. So I'm left with one word with which to describe it all. Intense. This week was intense.

Still, in the midst of every intense time? Every day when I can't get out of bed, every day that doesn't go the way that I'd want it to, not in a million years? There are still, always, small glimpses of grace. Spring comes slowly here in Michigan and the lilacs in my yard are finally opening up. Watching my oldest son play basketball with his Dad right out my kitchen window after dinner. Rosie's hair reacts delightfully to the humidity (which I ordinarily can't stand) and she runs around with Shirley Temple-caliber curls that just slay me. My second son teaches himself to ride a two wheeler in our driveway. Listening to the happy shrieks of a pack of kids playing out in the first thunderstorm of the season. Friends who text and offer help when I need it, who stand by my side when my legs are trembling in fear, who show me again and again the face of Jesus.

I think it over as we come upon a week of this intensity, and realize what I've just described is just this: life. Always a mash up of the intense and the sweet. The hard, the holy, the hardly-hanging-on. It's a richness that simply wouldn't be possible if everything was saccharine sweetness. There's depth to just this: a life rife with opportunities to grow in grace and humility, to be a blessing, receive a blessing, to shed tears of both joy and fear. This is life. This is good.

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When Love and Life Change You

Love languages have always stumped me.  Just when I thought I knew which one was more accurate for me, it changed. So I thought maybe I was wrong all along. Can something like that change? Or is it a constant?

I thought about it a few weekends ago when the kids had been so sick. For nights my sleep patterns were in 1 hour chunks, my wakings punctuated with sheet changing, laundry running, bleach. I woke up on Saturday morning having slept all night and my first thought was "Oh thank goodness. They must be better. They slept all night long!"

But then I noticed my husband wasn't beside me. I tiptoed downstairs and saw him there on the pull out couch, curled around our still-sick little one. I quickly pieced the entire thing together as he woke up. "How long have you been down here?" "Since just a little after you went to sleep. She woke up and I knew you were tired, so..."

In that moment, it might have been the most loving thing I had ever experienced. Certainly something that never would have made my top ten list of romantic gestures years ago. I suppose it stands to reason. I've changed. My life has changed. My stresses and strengths have changed over the years. It stands to reason that the way love speaks to me, the way I receive it's various expressions is quite different than it was in earlier times. I don't doubt it will change again as my family grows and my life changes again and again. In that moment, a full night of 8 delicious hours of sleep when I needed it the very most felt like a mountaintop proposal with a multi million dollar ring (something that doesn't appeal to me at all, for the record, but you get the picture, yes?).

I never thought I was an acts of service person, but having someone reach over and take my burden like that was nothing short of epic love.

When I was younger, I thought I was a Physical Touch person - and then I had kids. Year upon year of being crawled on, nursing 24/7, cuddled all night, wearing babies all day - it made me reconsider that because I get touched out. I get to a point (usually around bedtime) when it's nearly unbearable to me to be touched. So I wondered if maybe that's no longer my love language. Maybe I was so saturated by it that I got a little sick, like the Monday after Easter when just looking at a jelly bean makes you nauseous.

Instead, I'm finding that it very well might still be my love language - but in a changed way. I stay up late knitting and sewing for people I love and cherish, wrapping yarn around needles thousands of times, wool sliding through my fingers, touching every stitch that will wrap my baby or child up warmly. Could that be a physical way to love? I think maybe it is.

At various times in my life, different expressions of love and care have meant different things to me. I think that's how it goes. Saturation is a real thing and can put you off for a bit, while a lack of one sort can make it more of a treat than it felt before. It's just another way I'm seeing that relationships can never be "set it and forget it" or "follow the formula" or "wash, rinse, repeat."  Like a growing, living organism, they require constant attention, flexibility and acceptance.

But that might be what makes these expressions so meaningful. When one can look into the circumstances of another today, see their needs and meet them - that's true love. Not a stamped on love language label based on a test you took in high school, but a real life, living, breathing love with a real life person.

Maybe today, I'm an Acts of Service person. Maybe tomorrow, it's Words of Encouragement. Life is one day after another of finding new ways to love and serve others where they are. Where you are. That kind of love demands fluidity held together with purpose. That kind of love necessitates relationship and attention.

That kind of love is the real deal.


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Finding Joy When No One Wants Your Life

I wasn't even halfway done describing my day when I saw it, the exchange of glances between the two of them. I was trying to be honest but, to be honest? I didn't think what I was saying sounded all that bad. I was surprised when he blurted out -

"That sounds...awful."

My life sounds...awful? I turned it over and over in my mind that night, remembering a recent conversation with my husband. He had been frustrated at work when, after mentioning the number of children he had, the conversation of those around him moved toward preventing a large family at any cost. It kind of knocks the wind out of you, just a little, when people look at the life you've built and say "yikes. Anything but that."

Everyone's lives have components that people look at and find less than desirable. Working nights sounds awful to me. Having a spouse who travels a lot or is deployed for long periods of time sounds awful to me. Getting up at 6 am every morning to drag kids to the bus stop sounds anything but enjoyable.

The beautiful thing about life is that you can find joy anywhere. A doctor working exhausting long hours can find it when he can give a family good news after a surgery. A Mom like me, with days full to the breaking point of diapers and math assignments, dishes and laundry - finds it in the satisfaction of blessing the people she loves the very best.  God equips us all differently, calls us all differently, and even in lives that look to the outside like anything but fun, he showers grace and beauty, carefully seeds joy. He grows us into our vocations, and as we work, we grow attached, even fond of the rhythm of our lives.

Work isn't a curse. Industry and creativity bring us to a place of satisfaction that a life of leisure never could. Looking at the outside of any particular job or task never gives you the full picture of the joy that is possible when you're in it, giving it your all.

My life is kind of a mess. Crumbs and chaos mixed in with faith and learning, little people and bigs, pregnancy and diapers and pre algebra all at the same time. It's overwhelming, exhausting and loud. And from the outside, that just might be it. From the inside, that doesn't even scratch the surface.

Ten years ago, I wouldn't have wanted the life I have today if I had overheard a description of it. I may have even blurted out "that sounds awful!" and made a private note to not end up like this. After all, the thought of non stop childcare and housekeeping doesn't sound glamorous to anyone. But life is more than a list of duties. 7 kids is more than a number. Babies are more than diaper changes and teaching more than paperwork.

While there will always be components to my day that I do not enjoy, not one little bit - I have come to love it. Being with my people, keeping our home, watching them learn and grow and love on each other - it's a beautiful, amazing thing. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

You have to live it to see it clearly. I did.



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The Year Of Courage That Wasn't

I had all but forgotten about it, displaced by so many worries and stresses and concerns this year, when my best friend surprised me by bringing it up on the phone.

"I know this year has been a hard one for you guys, and I was remembering how you chose the word Courage for 2014..."

Maybe I hadn't forgotten. Maybe instead I had abandoned it when the going got tough because that's really not what I had in mind when I chose that word. Thinking back to a year ago now, I remember optimism. I remember the feeling of surfacing after months of Rosemary's colic and feeling, for the first time in a long time, strong. Able. When I chose the word "Courage" to be my word for the year, I imagined the courage to make great things happen. The inspiration for positive changes. I never once considered that courage would be required of me through difficulty and that was why it was the word that came to mind at the time.

It's 12 months later and I say it right out into the phone, "I can't wait for 2014 to be over. It's been awful and I'm done." 2014 left me disappointed and disillusioned. 2014 left me jarred and afraid. 2014 felt like one crisis after another dashing into me, into us. I know that no magic switch is flipped on January 1st each year, but somehow it can feel that way. Just get me to a new year, a clean slate, a fresh page - someplace for me to start over.

 I expected to need courage for big things. Instead, 12 months later, it looks like not much has changed except the adults in this family are a little more ragged, a little more jaded. It almost seems like this year was anything but a courageous one. This year was survival, pure and simple. There have been blessings, yes, and God turned up in probably the most real ways I've ever experienced, but it has been a hard and fearful year.

But then I take a closer look back. Past the appearances of it all, right into the heart. And that's when I see it: the courage that was required to make it through all of it. Each day when something new cropped up and devastated us, each night when I went to bed with nothing but desperate prayers. Courage isn't just required for those swallowing fears and putting themselves out there in good ways. Courage is required for battle. Courage is necessary for the every day struggles that being a human on this whirling rock brings about. Courage is required for every day that these little ones pat me awake and for every night I tuck them all in. It's required for parenting and marriage and work and play. It's required for letting go and realizing that our control is an illusion and we're all of us just doing what we can with what we have.

This year, there were fears. And tears. And most days I felt that courage was the the farthest thing from my reach. But I think maybe that's where it is. Courage doesn't come easily. Courage requires facing the odds against us and trusting that when all we see is darkness, there's still a Light that never wavers. Courage is the first step into the unseen void, and the breathlessness of being caught - and held - through every battle and every fear.

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Around Here

We got our first little dusting of snow yesterday and the temperatures have plummeted, seeming for good. Things around here are slowly coming back together after the one tumultuous time after another, just in time for the holidays. Here's what things look like around here. I'm

~ Knitting hats for Christmas. It seems my knitting mojo is coming back just a little bit at a time. Small, quick, mindless projects are all I can really handle right now, so hats are just the thing. I'm still working through yarn from my Yarn Fairy, which continues to be such a blessing to me! I should be able to get at least a hat for each family member from the stash she sent us. While knitting I'm

~Listening to podcasts. I'm all caught up with Serial and like This American Life as well. Podcasts are really perfect for me. I can focus on knitting and, unlike when we watch movies, not have to ask J "what just happened?" during a scene when I was working a cable. Any podcast recommendations for me?

~Planning Christmas. Every year I say "This year is going to be light!" and it is - lighter even than the last. I'm loving the feeling of being remarkably un-stressed about gifts or shopping. Small, light, simple.

~Making peace with the mess. And realizing it's not half bad. Eight of us in this little tiny house and I'm realizing that we are doing alright. I'm catching up on laundry and setting out donations on the porch and acknowledging that those messy kid bedrooms? Aren't so bad when you realize three children live in each small room. It's not picture perfect, but it's real life.

~Growing a little more quickly this time. It seems that the seventh times' the charm when it comes to physical memory. This is the first pregnancy when I can say I definitely will look pregnant for all nine months. And I'm oddly ok with that.

~Feeling overwhelmed with gratitude at these kids of mine. Sure we have tough days and there's always a tangle or two to unravel, moments that seem completely insurmountable or just too hard for this tired mom to engage in. But there is so much goodness, too. Watching my kids love each other, cheerfully serve, rejoice with one another and grow in so many ways never ceases to push me right down in gratitude. We've got riches over here of the eternal sort. And it's so thrilling to see.

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View From The Mountaintop

It's amazing how quickly things can turn around. How quickly light can pierce through a dark time, how grace can descend in an instant, at just the right time.

Yesterday I was laying back on the table at my doctors office, warm jelly on my belly, anxiously watching the ultrasound screen. One deep breath and then - there she was. In that moment it was like a flash of light exploded the darkness of the past few months. Gratitude flooded my heart and everything changed.

At every stoplight on the drive home I'd look down at the first pictures of our newest family member clutched tightly in my hand, as if these tiny printouts were a lifeline. Each time, I couldn't stop smiling. Oh, joy. How it's eluded me for so long. How I've missed it and how incredibly healing it is.

I've learned a lot about myself in this past season. Good things but a lot of not so good things. I don't suffer well. I complain, get angry, feel hopeless. I let darkness creep in and I push people away. I hide and hurt alone. I wish I could say I made the most of that time but I know I didn't. I let selfishness get in the way of learning all the lessons I could have, but I'm not sure anyone gets it right all the time.

Seeing our tiny, two inch, unplanned child on the screen in that doctors office was eye opening. Suddenly I'm looking around and I'm seeing it - how we've been brought through, how God has not only been faithful but has blessed us beyond our wildest imaginings. My husband's new job is going well, something just a few months ago seemed an impossibility. My morning sickness is slowly but surely ebbing away, a dark memory of the first trimester I'm so glad to leave behind. Our surprise baby is healthy, beautiful, perfect. Our home is warm, we love each other, our children are growing and learning and this, this feels like a mountain top moment. A moment to look back over the dark valleys behind and know there will be more ahead, but a moment to see clearly that God is merciful and we are impossibly loved. Life will never go according to our blind planning, but thank goodness it will always, always go according to His.

I run through the rain into the house where my kids wait to see the first pictures of their newest sibling. They are all smiles and in this moment I know - I couldn't ask for more.

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How To Sit With Suffering

"I've been sick for a solid month. I'm not sure just how much more I can take."

Another day down and I'm flat on my back by 7pm. I try to find the words for the desperation I feel, but it's a wordless thing, how extreme "morning" sickness can take you to a place of mental and emotional darkness like nothing I've ever experienced. Not everyone gets it this badly, and those who don't offer well intentioned tips on teas or candy to try. Those who do merely give you a haunted smile, commiserating that there's really not much you can do but live it.

The early months of pregnancy are usually a dark place for me,  a large part of why I've been so quiet over here. I don't have much to say beyond "this is so hard. I want my life back." The combination of crippling illness mashed up with the rest of life leaving me behind and spiraling out of control leaves me with little good to say.

I lay in bed day after day and I think about the people in my life with chronic illnesses. The crosses they take up daily. How they manage, knowing that, unlike my bout with months-long nausea, this won't pass. Am I just a big wimp? How does one avoid dreading tomorrow when tomorrow is just more of the same difficulty?

It's after a somewhat good day that I happen on the answer. A day when I powered through as much as I could and had a few successes. A day where getting that bathroom clean was a triumph and making a simple dinner for my own family felt like pure luxury. The only way through the hard and horrible is to spot the graces that are always there if you look for them.

My kids pulling more than their own weight. My husband uncomplainingly shouldering my normal tasks. The prayers and well wishes of my friends.

Things that never seemed like blessings before I now see in a new light. The ability to stay upright through dinner with my family. Reading books in bed with my littles when I just can't make it downstairs.

It all serves as a reminder that even on those dark and seemingly pointlessly hard days, God is still working. I know that suffering is not merely an interruption to life, but an opportunity for God to work on those deep, hard to reach places in my heart. My dependence on Him will be increased and He won't fail to meet me step for step.  Even when I feel at my weakest, my most worthless and helpless, He has a purpose for every moment of my life.

These days will pass and soon will be a memory. My life will go back to it's normal business, full to the brim with responsibilities and tasks. A new baby will come along and I'll be even busier. It would be all too easy to miss the opportunity to quietly sit with the difficulty. To swap growth for complaints and misery.

I'm choosing the better way. Keeping eyes open to see how I'm blessed and knowing full well I'll likely miss some of it. Inviting Him into the hardship and clinging close when there are no words.

God is so close sometimes I can't see him. But I know that He's always, always right here. Working His way for my good.


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I Could Never...#MindfulMotheringMondays

My faith is not a fire
As much as it's a glow
A little burning ember
In my weary soul

 

~Audrey Assad~

 

 

 A while back a friend interviewed me on her website and asked specifically about how my faith informs my parenting. I'll admit the question surprised me a bit. I figured my faith as a Mom was just about the same as the faith of any spiritual Christian Mom. But the more I think about it now, the more I struggle and strain against how faith looks and feels and is in my life - the more I realize it's like anything - as unique as the person it belongs to.

Not all Moms are the same and we celebrate the differences we have. The way we use our own gifts to bless our families and raise our children, the artistry of building a life together and coloring it with our distinctive personalities and strengths.

For me, faith is the only way I make it through. It's me calling, begging, whimpering - be close today? Have my back? Fill in the gaps, cover my weaknesses and bless it? Faith is me starting every day and closing each night entreating Him to be right there beside me. Faith is me knowing that each and every success and failure, every mountain and every valley, every shining morning and storm riddled night - He's all good and all on my side. Even when I'm not.

At a park not too long ago, a woman asked me as our children played together - are all those kids yours? When I nodded a friendly yes and told her names and ages and added my signature - "it's a lot of work but I love it," she said "I could never..." And I know what she meant because me, too.  I could never...be enough. I could never do right by them all. I could never get it right all the time, keep my heart patient and my eyes on things above. I could never hold my tongue and tamp down my temper. I could never be the mother 6 wildly unique and precious people need. And yet...I have faith.

We all have our "I could never"s. I've got a stack of my own, but even as I leaf through them in my mind, I know that, if that was required of me? I could. Not because I'm confident in my crisis management abilities - on the contrary, dealing with my own immaturity is one of the biggest chores in my life. No, it's because of something more. A promise I memorized as a child and still hold close today.

So when I see that positive pregnancy test after a hard summer of job loss and gain, I take a day to doubt. To lose my faith. To sit in the center of my bed in tears and saying "I could never..."

And I wake up the next morning to the life He promised to meet me in, and I whisper "You still there? Good. You're gonna have to do the heavy lifting again. Let's do this."

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

Phillipians 4:13

 

 

My faith makes my parenting possible because with Him anything is. I grasp courage in my parenting when I let go of control and let Him lead me.

I hold onto that tightly, trusting that God can use it all to sanctify me, drawing me closer each day. These kids are God's unique way of refining me every day. Slowly sloughing off the rough edges and making me more and more into who He's planning for me to be. I believe Him. I make it through each and every day clinging to His word because it's all I have to carry me through.





{It's Mindful Mothering Mondays, a day to take a deep breath and write out your mothering journey, whatever form it takes. A day to link up for encouragement from others who are in this same phase of life. A day of writing out the trials and triumphs and what you're learning right where you are, right now.

You might post recent struggles or thoughts. Maybe just a picture or a quote. Or maybe you'll just come here and read the links that others post. Whatever form your participation takes, this is a day for you.
We are all in this, together. Together, we can encourage and build one another up, be honest with our shortcomings and strengthened by community to keep fighting the good fight.

I chose Mondays because what Mama doesn't need a little encouragement on a Monday?

I hope you'll meet with me! Here's what to do ~

Link up your post below in the comments. Remember to put the link to the exact post you want to link, and not just your blog url. Include in your post a link back here so others who want to join in can find us! And visit some other Mamas who have linked up.

Post the community graphic within your post, so people who are reading your Mindful Mothering post can come back here and find the rest of us! You can use the hashtag #MindfulMotheringMondays on Twitter and Instagram to connect further.

Invite the writers of your favorite blogs to join in!

Share this meme with others on facebook and twitter. This community is for all moms, and the more that participate, the more we will be able to enjoy!!}

Grab the graphic here:

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

Life Is More Than Lists {A Little Back To School Reminder}

It's the end of summer. We hold off on starting school a full week past what is normal for our area, but it still feels too early. Maybe it's because this summer never really heated up and we didn't spend a whole lot of time in that desperate pursuit of coolness. Maybe it's because, despite my yearly vows to keep our days free and open, every weekend seems to fill up one way or another. Or maybe it's just how it always goes. I never quite get everything in that I'd like to. I never quite manage to make it to the bottom of the check list of summer awesome.

But life is so much more than just a check next to an item line. At least, I want mine to be more.

I think about it while pulling out curriculum and making lists because oh, that's right, we are supposed to start school on Monday and I'll be teaching four kids four grades, with two others besides. I make my spreadsheets and I get it all organized on paper and it makes sense, color coded subjects by level and chore charts by difficulty. It's pretty and it's neat and it's so unlike real life that I think it may make more sense if I print it up and let the toddlers scribble on it in pen.

I try to remember that growing these kids in wisdom and grace isn't something you can check off a list. It's a daily practice that has to be claimed and worn each and every day. Some days easier than others. Some so messy and mangled that they more closely resemble my bin of mismatched socks than that pretty little spreadsheet in my google docs. I know that some days the only way I'll get to sleep is to hand our mess over to God and say "I did my best. You take the rest." Because it's really all I can do.

That's when something amazing happens. Life blooms in the cracks, in the margins of the check lists. In the unexpected and in the unplanned, we get a front row seat to the truth that our successes and the successes our children does not hinge solely on us. God's plan trumps our spreadsheets. He only asks that we trust Him and hand over every worry, knowing that He's bigger that any bad day we have.

These kids are amazing and He loves them more than I do. He takes my feeble human effort and blesses it like crazy and I can see how life is following His plan even if it's not following mine. I hand over my weaknesses and He fills the space with grace, day in and day out.

Summer is over, and I just know that this school year? This impossibly huge undertaking that is much too big for me to hold on my own? Is going to be great. Even if that list is long forgotten one week in.

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in 

weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my 

weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.

2 Corinthians 12:9

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

Home Apprenticeship #MindfulMotheringMondays

{I was thinking it was nearly time to bring out this archived post and have another look, and Labor Day seems just the day to do that. Lots of things I need to remember here. Enjoy!}

"I could never homeschool.  That's awesome that you do, though."

We're in the waiting room at ballet, watching our pint-sized ballerinas through the window.  I reluctantly lift my eyes from Dinah's porte de bras to meet her gaze.

"Oh I'm sure you could.  It's not much different than regular parenting, really."

She's not readily convinced, shakes her head and gestures.

"No, no, no.  With the kid's home all day?  I could never get anything done."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's Sunday and I'm washing up the last of the dishes.  Cake baking in the oven, bread dough tucked snugly into pans, vegetables and macaroni and cheese waiting in the fridge for their turn to be cooked for our weekly family meal.

Outside, the hum of the mower and I see my 8 year old walk past the window, throwing the bulk of his thin 8 year old frame against the weight of it.  Behind him walks his Dad, my husband, just a few steps.  Close enough to step in to correct and instruct, far enough to let his son learn on his own.

My toddler comes running in from outside and I set him up with a dishcloth to dry the pots and pans for me. He's quiet and content on his little stool, occasionally looking up and asking me if he's doing a good job.  I apply praise liberally and his face is all light and smiles.

It gets me thinking of that conversation last week at the studio.  How does one get anything done with five kids in the home all day every day?  To be sure, some things can be quite a mess.  But the basics?  They get done.  Laundry, groceries, meals, schooling, bathing...it all happens just fine.  Maybe a bit more hectic than if they weren't here, but I wonder if that's a bad thing.

In the past 200 or so years, it seems we've forgotten how to "get anything done" with children around.  Certainly some people still have it figured out.  Drive out in Amish country and you'll see a Father plowing his field - with 2 or 3 youngsters tagging along and helping.  Regular families used to be able to do that, too - incorporate their children into the daily running of their homes and lives.  Children learned by watching and working alongside their parents - important skills.  Parents didn't view their children's presence as being burdensome or exasperating, but rather another aspect of the job - training the next generation to work.

These days, it's easier to turn on a video for the kids while you are making dinner, or do all the chores yourself because it's more efficient and orderly that way.  But perhaps this is robbing our children of something very important?

It's not always a picturesque endeavor. They're real people, after all, and who get's excited about unloading a dishwasher? But the result is always worth the struggle it may take to get there.

Homeschooled or schooled, it doesn't matter.  Incorporating children into real life begins with the home life and how we allow them to apprentice along side us, yes, even if it means a bit of a mess in the kitchen, or laundry not folded exactly right.  Perhaps his mowing isn't in perfect straight lines, but it certainly never will be if he isn't given the opportunity to try.  We also need to get away from viewing "work" as a dirty word and something to save our children from.  Teach little ones to love work by allowing them to help when they are little and still want to - and raise up a crop of hardworking adults who get the job done.

It's a lesson I'm still learning when I'd rather just buzz through these 3 loads a day and not be bothered teaching the 5 year old how to fold Daddy's shirts.  Or when I really just want to get these loaves in the oven and not let him help me mix up the dough.  But I know it's all a part of the job - a very important part.  Perhaps the most important part.

Lazy people want much but get little, but those who work hard 

will prosper (Proverbs 13:4 NLT).

How are you apprenticing your kids?


{It's Mindful Mothering Mondays, a day to take a deep breath and write out your mothering journey, whatever form it takes. A day to link up for encouragement from others who are in this same phase of life. A day of writing out the trials and triumphs and what you're learning right where you are, right now.

You might post recent struggles or thoughts. Maybe just a picture or a quote. Or maybe you'll just come here and read the links that others post. Whatever form your participation takes, this is a day for you.
We are all in this, together. Together, we can encourage and build one another up, be honest with our shortcomings and strengthened by community to keep fighting the good fight.

I chose Mondays because what Mama doesn't need a little encouragement on a Monday?

I hope you'll meet with me! Here's what to do ~

Link up your post below in the comments. Remember to put the link to the exact post you want to link, and not just your blog url. Include in your post a link back here so others who want to join in can find us! And visit some other Mamas who have linked up.

Post the community graphic within your post, so people who are reading your Mindful Mothering post can come back here and find the rest of us! You can use the hashtag #MindfulMotheringMondays on Twitter and Instagram to connect further.

Invite the writers of your favorite blogs to join in!

Share this meme with others on facebook and twitter. This community is for all moms, and the more that participate, the more we will be able to enjoy!!}

Grab the graphic here:

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

The Reason For Joy

"...the secret to joy is to keep seeking God where we doubt He is."

~Ann Voskamp

Thank you all for your kindness, support and love after my post on Tuesday. I'll admit it - that blog was a tough one to write. I constantly struggle with how much to tell, how much to keep to myself and what, exactly, God wants to share through me. From the many emails I received, the phone calls and texts - I'm assured that it was the right thing to do. I'm right smack in the middle of this crazy life, just like everyone else. And I'm so blessed not to walk it alone.

My first instinct when life gets difficult is to turn inward. To cut things and, sadly, people - out. In my rush to self-preservation, I just drop everything. It's selfish, it's unwise and, mostly, it's unrealistic. When I became a mother, my life became more about just me. And, as much as I'd like to stay in bed all day and lament how just plain unfair life can be, I don't have that luxury. My people need me. Not just "empty shell" me. Not just physical me. But me. My creativity and my soul. My insistence on life as more than just getting through the day, but living it, fully.

Yesterday I threw myself back into real life - starting with embracing the last bit of summer with my kids. I turned on the sprinkler and they didn't waste time looking for bathing suits before rushing right in. I sat and just watched them and let myself soak up in the joy and ease of childhood. Much better than sitting alone stewing, being with these carefree kids softened something in me. They shrieked and ran and played with reckless abandon. It reminded me of what it is to live free, secure in the knowledge that Someone is holding it all. Free to be happy, to sleep soundly, to smile bravely.

I forget that easily. I get hard and I get tired and I get to thinking that the only way to handle a crisis is to be serious and somber. But when I shrink back from all that is light in my life, I'm not doing myself any favors. I'm shutting the door on joy.

Joy is something I think about quite a lot. Why did God create joy? What purpose does it serve? Why is it something He so desperately wants for us? I'm not theologian so please take what I say with a very large grain of salt. But I've been thinking that Joy is more than just a gift. It's a necessary part of our lives in Him. Joy finds us when we fall deeper into the knowledge of and dependence on God's truth, grace and mercy. Joy finds us when we go looking for Him. Fear is replaced with peace found only in relying fully on Him, who has overcome the world. It's more than just being happy. It's heart surgery that's possible only when we are in complete surrender to His plans, contented with His will.

Maybe that's why it's so elusive during crisis. On the days when I'm gritting my teeth and trying to just do.it.all on my own. I'm focused on the wrong things. I'm clinging tight to the comfort of what? My own feeble humanity? No wonder I'm so afraid.

True joy doesn't depend on circumstance. Joy is the balm of the promise of Heaven, wrongs righted, tears dried, longing fulfilled. It's a gift to those who break their clenched grasp of imagined control and let Him love. His way.

It's the only way to see the light, not just at the end of the tunnel, but along the way as well. Each day an invitation to find Him. Each moment an opportunity for greater gratitude. Just a little something I'm learning these days. I don't have to wait for it, for the stars to align in some sort of fairy tale perfection. I can hold it now. That's the reason for joy. Something to hold to, for such a time as this.

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

Giving It Over, Giving It Up

A few weeks ago, my husband lost his job. I knew the moment he walked in the door that something was wrong, evident by how he avoided my eyes and absently patted the kids when they came up to greet him. He was distraught. Broken. Terrified and sick with worry. I hardly knew how to respond.

Sharing just this today over at my church blog today.

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