Lonely Spaces

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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Simple. Sane

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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Wordless

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

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

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

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

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

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The Ministry of Being You

Tonight we celebrate my younger brother returning from his 6 month long Appalachian Trail adventure. Dinah and I made a couple lasagnas and later we'll meet up with my siblings and parents to welcome him home the way we know best - at a noisy over-sized family dinner.

Tomorrow, I'm watching the small kids of a friend of mine while she goes for a doctor's appointment. Her husband is out of the country and her pregnancy has taken a sudden high risk turn (prayers very much appreciated). My husband's family is coming into town for the weekend.

This morning, standing in the middle of our mess, trying to cook, homeschool, keep littles alive, I felt it coming over me. That creepy crawly feeling of stress tiptoeing it's way up my spine, ready to clamp down around my head in a tension headache as I tried to juggle all-the-things. "Uh oh," I thought. "Here it comes..."

God hasn't given me the ministry of perfect homemaking. At least, not today. It's not my job to point people to Jesus through my spotless home or superior decorating skills (and those of you who have been to my house can certainly attest to that). God has given me the ministry of loving people just as I am. Not as someone else. He's also given me seven children, a heart for young Mamas in a bind, a passion for service and a little house from which to run this whole shebang.

Can I accept that maybe He knows what He's doing? That if my company shows up and my house looks for all the world like I loved 9 children in it all day long, yes, even the ones who seem to think crayon art is an improvement upon my plain walls, can I accept that His work for me in that moment is still good?

See, I can get a little Martha-ish. I can miss the point completely and get all wrapped up in the fuss of busy that I fail to see what the real point of all of this. The truth is, I can't do it all. No one can. No amount of "leaning in" can make up for the fact that I've got finite time, a very human body with very normal needs and very full hands. Something's gotta give, and that's ok. The thing is, the one thing that shouldn't be neglected is the embracing of His peace over this life, these days, this ministry of imperfection.

If I gain a clean house but don't show love to my family, I failed. If I neglect the needs of the people around me to make space for my pride, I've gotten it wrong. If I try and force myself to fit into the ideals of others by pretending I'm something I'm not, I'm missing out on the opportunity of showing them how this God of ours works.

He works by taking all of us in all of our uniqueness and finding special ways for us to serve. In a world with such diversity, God showers us with His love by finding the right people for every task - and growing them into the work He has for them.

I feel like I keep learning these lessons over and over again, and I'll keep on learning them forever: The surest way to point others to Jesus is to show them how He has shown up in your life. Not in how it's so perfect that you don't need Him.

These hands are full, but they are full of souls each made with a purpose, a plan, a future. These days are full, but they are full of the work of love as service. This body is tired, but it's tired from caring and giving and living life to it's fullest - just not in the way the world envisions.

There is never any shame in following Jesus with your whole heart, whole soul, whole life. Even if it looks kind of like a mess to the outside observer.

My friend drops off her kids and I feel so blessed to be a place where people can come for help and know that I'm up for it. It's a good life.

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Unraveled

Knit knit knit. Unravel. Cast on, frog. I can't seem to commit to a pattern, to a yarn, to anything these days. Two days ago I frogged a sweater that I had knit to the split for arms. I just wasn't feeling it. The yarn that makes up the half knitted sock in my purse has already been frogged from two other projects. I can't seem to settle in and just move forward.

This summer has felt like that. A lot of false starts. A lot of back tracking. A lot of second guessing. I haven't had much to say, as evidenced by a summer of sparse posts in this space. Our family has changed so much in the years that I've had this little blog that sometimes I barely recognize myself in the archived posts.

Truthfully, there is a shift in a family as the kids get older - even if you still have little ones at home. It becomes less and less easy for me to pursue my own interests and I find more and more of my time being spent working out the details of everyone else's life. You'd think, coming from a large family, I would have remembered this, but being the Mama is very different than being one of the kids. I simply wasn't aware of how my mother's life changed over the years. I was too busy focusing on myself.

These days, relationships have my attention. Boundaries. The balance between protecting and preparing. When my bigs were littles, the biggest struggles were getting people to brush their teeth and trying to get as much sleep as possible. Those were intense days, don't get me wrong, but they were certainly simpler in so many ways. Now that I am in the business of helping my older kids navigate the world out there, I find myself wrestling with my desire to stay inside this little bubble of family. I need to step outside, look around, and point my kids down the right path. It is - exhausting. It makes everything else exhausting, yes, even deciding on a knitting pattern.

So, things change a bit. I knit less. I read more. I soak in my littles as much as I can and I try to connect more and more with the big kids. 7 kids 7 different ages have 7 very different needs from a Mom, and figuring out who needs what can feel like a full time job. A wonderful job, a job that requires me to grow up in a lot of ways I never knew I needed to, a job that is refining me day by day, but a job nonetheless.

My go-to coping mechanism of choice has switched to physical activity. I try to move every day and believe that has helped me focus, has kept post partum depression and anxiety (mostly) at bay. I'm not the strongest I've ever been (as a former ballet dancer that would take a lot to accomplish) but I am stronger than I've been in at least 6 years. Possibly more. When I move, my brain calms down. I can take a mental break from the stresses of our daily life. It has been so very good for me.

So while I don't have any idea if the sweater I started last night will truly become what I intend it to be today, I know I'm slowly finding my way, unraveling what doesn't work to forge ahead with new ideas. In a new season of life, with new goals, frustrations, concerns and joys, that seems just about right.

"Teach me to number my days that I may gain a heart of wisdom."

Psalm 90:12

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Of Anxiety Attacks and Striving

In the moments before I found myself literally lying on the kitchen floor, water still running in the sink and my oldest shouting for his dad, I remember agitation.

The day has been good but so stressful, the chaos of dinner and dishes coupled with relentless humidity. Those kids, they weren't listening. I was so tired of them not freakin' listening that I yelled loud even though the windows were open and the neighbors could surely hear. Like a drill sergeant, shouting out commands, my kids scattering. And then, that breathless feeling. A pulse, then crushing pain shooting up my neck. The dizzy off balance sway, the heartbeat hammering and finally my legs turning to jelly. The pan I had been scrubbing slipped from my hands and I grasped nothing but suds.

Oh no. Oh no. Help. The words slipped out like a whisper and the floor met me. 

He found me face down on the kitchen floor in a puddle of tears, gasping like a fish out of water. 

It isn't the first time anxiety has claimed me as a victim. Not the first time my life has overwhelmed me to the point of physical symptoms. Once we took a few deep breaths and confirmed all was well, after I drank a glass of water and sat quietly on the couch for a bit, I found my way back. Finishing up the dishes, I considered. What is this worth? 

The striving. The constant doing. The rushing and the stress. All of the things I invited upon myself until I could literally take no more. What are they worth? 

See, when you shoulder your own burdens they can pull you right down in front of your kids. When you hold all the fear and stress, when you convince yourself "I've got this" despite signs and signals to stop, you're heading for disaster. 

I've been thinking a lot about God's provision lately, and I'm realizing that believing on that is the antidote to striving. What if instead of worrying about 

Kids, finances, trips, marriage, dishes, cleaning, horrors on the news

I claimed His provision over those things instead? What if my choked off cry for help happened before disaster struck?

Sometimes a little reminder that motherhood does not equal omnipotence is warranted. Sometimes we just keep rushing and churning and pushing and burning. That kind of overuse of a simple human can land you in an emergency room - or worse. Becoming a Mother does not turn you into some sort of goddess without basic human needs. We forget that because we get so good at living on the brink, edging just a little bit closer with every additional thing we take on - until one little nudge is all it takes to send us toppling straight down.

Dear Mamas, do not forget to love you. Do not forget to mother yourself. Do not get so caught up in striving to ensure everyone else in your family comfortable and nurtured and well rested and fed that you forget all about yourself.

You are not God. It's not all up to you. There's a certain sort of pride we enjoy, a certain bit of honor that we like the feel of. When our kids are matching and neat in the church pew. When our husbands come home to a clean calm home with supper waiting. When we lose the last bit of baby weight. As is often the case, there is nothing wrong with any of those things on their own. Indeed, they can be a wonderful expression of a life full of grace, happiness, hard work and love. But if you're pushing yourself to accomplish these things to the point where your very mental, physical and emotional health is being put at risk, you are crossing a line.

A line of spiritual significance.

When I strive at any cost, I place stress, anxiety and fear on a pedestal - and knock the truth of God's provision, mercy and grace to the floor.

When I refuse the gift of rest, I say "No" to God's plan for me.

When I push myself beyond reasonable limits, I am guilty of using someone made in God's image to bolster my pride.

When I allow myself to become the whipping boy for guilt and shame and mistakes and false starts, I refuse to acknowledge the life Christ died to give me - the gift of a clean slate and a burdenless soul.

Not all anxiety comes from stress. Not all exhaustion comes from lack of sleep. Not every problem can be solved by being more gentle with yourself.

But when I start there, really look at how I've been treating myself, I can see much to repent of. Many ways I could be more gentle with myself. Most of all, I see someone who God loves with a depth I cannot begin to comprehend. Someone I need to treat with every bit of charity, grace and love that I possess.

Mothers are people too.

Treat yourself like someone God loves, and hand him all the rest.


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Truth Telling, Light Shedding

This summer is flying by.

Late at night a few friends of mine and I sat outside our favorite restaurant next to the train tracks here in town. We talked about honesty, raising kids and living our faith. So much of what is said by Christians can often be boiled down to "God just wants you to be happy" and "If you do x you will reap a great reward." Yes, but also - no. Not at all. Just as I feel it would be less than truthful to tell a young couple that their married life will be filled with nothing but joy and love, I can get uneasy with how so much of life is portrayed by well meaning, lovely people. Having babies is a joy, but it's also hard, lonely, exhausting - and sometimes those rewards, they don't show up the way you think they will. Having a lot of babies is all that and more - but the stresses are also more abundant.

My dearest friends are those who give voice to the difficulty - not because it is negative, but because it is truthful. And without truth, the stories we tell each other are just fairy tales. Truth isn't negative. Truth is light.

God is good, always. But is "good" always what we think it is? 

I think there's a fine line between telling the good stuff and telling only the good stuff. Life through a rose colored lens only gets you so far and is a disservice to those looking to you to see what life really looks like. It's something I've been challenged with a lot lately - do you tell people the truth or what they want to hear?

My cousin Libby says "Yes, God promises to give us the desires of our hearts - but maybe that only comes when our desires are aligned with His for us." I can feel the truth in that just like I can feel the strange peace that comes when I learn over and over again to hand over control. Like the smoothing of a pebble tossed in the waves, like silk in your hand.

A year after my husband loses his job, a year packed with getting back on our feet, an unexpected pregnancy and subsequent delight at welcoming another wonderful person - his team at his new job is being dissolved. Looking for work again after less than 12 months of employment. I have to say, it was hard to muster tears this time. Despite saying it out loud while holding a 2 month old baby in my arms - "I can't. I can't do that again. I can't do it," I had a strange feeling. This time is a little less desperate. A little less fearful. A little easier to shoulder the stress. Not just because I have seen how it can all work out, but because relying on God is a daily exercise. I feel stronger than last year because for the past 365 days I've loosened my grip on my life. On my desires. And yes, on my dreams.

The truth isn't that everything is going to work out the way you want it to. Believing that is the path disappointment, anxiety and disillusionment. No, the truth is struggle allows each step outside your comfort zone to evolve and adapt you, to change your perspective and challenge your limits. Not because it will be easy, or even satisfying. The rewards may never be tangible or immediate.

But God promises that our struggles here will yield perseverance, and if I look closely, I can see that growing here, in me.

The truth is - peace is a Person. And the closer I cling to him, the more I hand over the reins of my life here, the more I trust He works it all for good - the more I have.

It's a daily practice, this truth telling. But truth sheds light, and the brighter my vision, the more I can see Him working it all and ever for good.


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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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Flying - And A Bit About Provision

I remember being eight, ten years old. I remember the feel of the bus seats on the back of my bare thighs, hot from the sun and scratchy - my first ride ever on a bus. I remember meeting other kids on the bus, gradually their names, where they are from. I remember day three of camp, walking around like I owned the place. I remember feeling like I belonged to a world of my own, a place beyond my family. I remember feeling curiously confident, knowing I could walk into a situation where I didn't know another soul and do just fine.

My oldest son carried his sister's suitcases to the waiting truck, labeled and ready to go. He'd been a nervous wreck for a week now, fears randomly cropping up. "What if they don't know where to go, Mom?" "I don't think Dinah gets how spending money works there." "What if one of them gets left at a rest stop?" In a rare show of older brother concern, his love and worry for his sisters leaked out of his carefully crafted preteen veneer of cool. I calmly reassured him that, just like when he went to camp for the first time, they will do just fine.

At 10 and 8, my girls looked awfully small standing in line to check in at the bus stop for camp. Their backpacks, purple and blue and chock full of snacks for the trip and a love note from Mama for each, hung heavily on their little shoulders. For a homeschool mom, camp is the first time you put your babies on a bus and walk away. It's the first time you put your most prized possessions in the hands of strangers and somehow drive off, knowing full well you won't see or hear from them for a solid week. Barring emergency, they are out of your hands for 7 days.

Their faces were a mix of anxiety and excitement. "Do I tell her my first name and last name or just my first name?" Dinah whispered, wanting to get the protocol just right. Fiona's voice was so small, telling the bus aid her name and grade.

This is good for my kids. An opportunity to, in a safe place, test out a tiny bit of independence. To learn how to find an adult for help that isn't Mom, because it won't always be Mom. Camp is one of the ways that I give my children the opportunity to test out a broader world than our own little bubble. When I let go of my grasp on their every day and give them a chance to fly on their own a little bit.

Letting your babies go is a slow process. Slower, for those of us who keep them home for a few years longer than most. I go home and even with five kids still at home, my girls leave a gaping hole in our days. A reminder that these moments are fleeting, these kids just here with us for a few precious years at the very beginning of their lives. It can catch you a little bit, just there in that tender spot in your heart that holds all the joys and pains of raising these kids. But the good thing? The thing that lets me sleep when my girls are a hundred miles away and I can't reach them or protect them?

My kids cannot go anywhere that God isn't. They take Him with them wherever they go, and He promises to provide for all their needs. That's more than I can promise. It's more than I can be. I think maybe that's the antidote to my hovering tendencies, my white knuckled grip on their hearts. I find my security in His promises because they will never, ever fail me. Can I believe on that for them, too? Can I hold on to the peace that comes from the heart knowledge of this truth?

That's the thing about letting your kids fly. They can never go so high that the net of God's presence, provision and love cannot catch them. They can never outrun His goodness and mercy that chases them down each and every day, forever.

Each day, I'm brought to a new place in parenting. I'm a pro at toddlers and potty training, but the new horizons of teens and adults kids is something that remains a mystery to me. My faith is tested each daym and I can feel God saying, "Trust me with this, too. Yep, and that. All of it. All of them. Every day. I've got this." 

Even though they leave the nest for longer and longer each time and someday will build their very own, they take with them a promise that I could never keep, but He can. And does.

John 14:27

“I am leaving you with a gift—peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid.

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Appreciating Childhood

She finds me after taking a tumble outside, and I can smell it on her - summer worn like a sprinkling of the sweetest perfume. Her filthy feral feet still fit in the palm of my hand. Her sweaty, sand-speckled curls damp against my cheek and the heaviness of her soft toddler body fully relaxed against my chest.

I've loved toddlers before and they all feel and smell the same - like they almost don't belong here, some kind of otherworldly humanity that you stumble on. A surprise. The fierce might of their predictably unpredictable moods tempered just so with the sweet innocence of the full knowledge of being completely and unceasingly adored - strange paradoxical creatures, toddlers.

I could say the same about all the ages of childhood. The budding independence of the later childhood years mixed with that still-present need to occasionally curl up on Mama's lap like a baby. And the baby, in all her newborn glory - needy little thing that she is - I could stare at her for hours. Exclaim to my husband like the 6 times before, "Just look at her, will you? She's amazing! She's perfect! Look at her eyelashes/hair/lips/ears/whatever! Just look!!"

The six and four year old boys, just emerging into the dirt encrusted brand of intensity that is maleness at this age while maintaining this allegiance to Mama that melts my heart. The insane things they come up with when left to their own devices amaze and confound me and drive me up the wall - but it's all good, all growth and all opportunity to learn something new.

These summer kid days are long but the years are short and I can't pin them down. I can't hold them in my hand or slow the clock and honestly, I wouldn't want to. Watching them grow is a privilege and a joy, something I try not to lose sight of when life gets intense.

These exhausting, long, precious days are a gift. These people - my greatest joy, frustration, hope and inspiration.

This swift passing life, this season of youth and joy, these moments being all things to all people just by being their Mama - all are a path I'm grateful to have walked.


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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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Normal Days

We are finally beyond our intense birthday season (for the kids, anyway) and although we are still living out our Easter days, Lent and the associated Holy days are behind us. We are finally healthy again, besides poor little Peter's broken arm, and things are looking pretty normal around here. Sometimes normal feels so good! Even if we know it will be fleeting.

There are less than 6 weeks until this baby is anticipated to arrive, so I know this normalcy won't last for long. It's a good time for me to settle in try to live with a little bit more intention. Distraction free for now, I can enjoy the flow of mundane days without special occasions cropping up constantly and sending me into a tailspin of busyness and rushing.

Still, I know that there is no such thing as a consistent, even pace. The very nature of family life means that things are in constant flux. Sure, for a few weeks here and there we may think we have mastered it, finally arrived, found the plateau. Like a baby sleeping through the night for a month or so, we think we have finally figured it out and nothing will ever change again. But things change. We say babies "revert," but truly? They are just people. People change. Seasons change. Families change.

Spending all our time in an endless search for a constant, never changing normalcy will only end up frustrating us. Instead, I'm trying to enjoy the easy days. The ones where nothing much happens, where it feels like I have a hope of mastering it. I enjoy them because I know that they are the rare ones. Really not normal at all. Life is a constantly evolving, impossible to label resistance against compartmentalization. It's how we grow. It's how we learn. It's how we stand a chance of making it through the rough times, with the adaptability we have been practicing since day one.

Truly normal days are the ones where arms break. Where the unanticipated happens. Where we lose our footing and struggle to find it again. That's where strength grows - in that fight for balance.

When I find myself craving all things smooth, easy, uninterrupted and simple, I'm reminded of just this. Strength comes from struggle, and life truly lives in the jostle of the unexpected.


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Rise and {Shine}

A very blustery night was followed by a brilliantly sunshiney morning and it's just enough to make me think I might just make it through. Although Spring is a long way off still, especially here in Michigan, the sun is the first hint, a reminder that it's not that far off.  I measure it through my camera lens and feel a particular thrill when there is enough natural light for somewhat decent pictures. 

We're finding our way through these long, locked inside winter days and it's really not half bad. After a few particularly rough years, so far this has been the best Winter I can remember. Somehow, six kids schooling under one little roof is working out just fine. We are finding enough to keep ourselves busy here and have nailed down a flexible but effective routine that seems to take into account everyone's needs - amazing when you consider we have everyone from toddlers through elementary and middle schoolers with a pregnant Mama besides. We ease into the mornings with nothing formal until 10, have a few intense hours before more ease in the afternoon while babies nap. It's ideal for me, for now - growing another little one and just beginning to feel that need to slow down a little bit as we head into the third trimester.

These kids never cease to amaze me and this has been our best homeschooling year yet. It's not often that everyone blossoms at once but it seems like suddenly each one of the four I'm schooling have had their own "Aha!" moments and it's so wonderful to witness. I've been at this long enough to know that these mountaintop moments are the exception, not the rule, but after seriously doubting myself and considering sending them all to school in the fall - it has been a much needed affirmation that we are just fine.

I'm taking these days to really sink into life as it is today and am finding so much peace in the predictability of it. I've never been much of a schedule person but I'm finding a lot of comfort in knowing that if I just follow the plan, I'll end up at the end of the day just where I need to be.

I'm discovering the keys to a happy life are just these: Coffee in the morning, knitting all day, relaxed expectations and a heaping dose of gratitude. I think I can manage that.

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