School, Change and Identity

On Monday morning, everything changes.

The beginning of a new week always feels that way. It's funny, this kind of arbitrary system we all agreed on. that Monday is the start. The beginning. Something new, something fresh. Something different. Like we're slipping off the garment of everything that came before and stepping into the stark light of something unknown.

On Monday morning, everything changes.

For the first time ever, my kids are going to school. There are so many decisions and thoughts and feelings and questions that go along with that, but there it is. Truth be told, I don't really know how to talk about it yet. It's a cautious and delicate thing I'm sure will take me quite a while to unwrap for myself, much less others. All I know for today is that God is good and this feels right and I know they'll be fine. As for me, well...

Not unlike when I made the choice to greet Maggie in the hospital instead of at home, my wonderful friends rush in with reassurance. And, in the same way, I'm not sure it will help. Yes, I know teachers love children and the school is a wonderful place. Yes, I know my kids will be well looked after, will make friends, will love it there. Yes, I know, everything will be alright. Yes, yes.

And yet.

There's a sort of humility in opening ourselves up to change - yes, even right down to the things staked our identity on. Homeschooling was one of those things, for me. A part of me from my own first day as a homeschooled kid, through the 9 years I taught my own kids in my own home. I keep myself busy getting them ready but deep down there's a little whisper growing louder all the time, something insistent that demands to be heard. Something keening, muffled but there all the same. Something I'll have to deal with, sooner or later. A little bit of heartbreak.

I don't know what tomorrow brings. Or next Fall, or ten years from now. I don't know how a house feels without the big kids home, or really what we're going to do with ourselves. Maybe it's just a season, or maybe I'm taking one last look at what life was like once upon a time. I don't know.

I'm still learning, after all this time, that aligning my self worth and identity with man made labels and tags is a fools errand. Who I truly am isn't something that can be changed so easily. It follows me through all the twists and turns life takes and sticks close to me on the darkest of days. Eternally loved, emphatically chosen.

So, on Monday morning, I'll pack lunches and hug the people who I love more than anything on this planet and feel along the razor sharp edge of love and pain and growth and change. Believing that this could be the start of something beautiful, bursting through what was before.


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Frailty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2 Corinthians 8:9

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Give Us This Day

                                

We're out of eggs. My grocery planning didn't account for having to make a second cake this weekend due to a kitchen mishap (read: toddler "helper" accidentally dumping batter all over the floor). As a result, no eggs. It's Wednesday and my little three are a tangle around my legs while I pour three bowls of cheerios and still my heart for a moment of gratitude. Food for my babies and babies to feed. Blessings.

Our day is going to ramp up soon, but while they eat I scroll facebook, pick out a few articles to read. It's a tough time to be on social media and I need to tread carefully here, knowing how the news can affect my heart/day/family. A friend keeps telling me to focus on the light and, for me, that might just mean keeping the outside world at an arms length today. Striking balance between informed concern and self preservation is a tricky balance I'm still building. Focus on the light. Turn toward the light.

Today, the light is three bowls of cheerios, the children they are for and the milky way she grins at me from her high chair, calling to me to come get her. I'm thinking about the daily bread of God and how it comes to us in many forms. In the meeting of basic needs, sure - but also in the tender holding of hearts. The people He places in our lives to speak truth, be love, stand sentry. The gift of children. Hope.

The daily bread of God is the promise of God with us. God in this, with us. Even here. This day, these kids, my weary and splintered heart. Held and counted, redeemed and comforted.

Don't forget, not for one day, one moment, one second - that there is something more. Something bigger than this election, news cycle. Something more abounding in good than this world is steeped in evil. Something that promises to redeem the howling ache of every human soul. 

After breakfast, we'll start school. Beginning it as always with His words, His heart for us. Abiding just there. Asking, knowing the answer. 

Give us this day your daily bread.

Give us You. 

Your words, your hope, your presence, your comfort.

And He does.

Never Easier, Every Day Better

Monday morning and I'm knee deep. Every day just flows right on into the next. If at one time I felt like I had a bit of time to take a breath each evening, a stop gap between one full day and the next - yeah, those days are behind me.

That's the thing no one tells you about the kids growing older. In a great many ways, the benefits are huge. Yes, I have a child old enough to babysit - something my friends with only littles look to enviously. I know, because I've been there. I know because I remember being awestruck at a friends home when her teen made our kids pb&j with a baby on her hip while we visited and sipped lattes. I thought wow - you've arrived. She assured me, though I doubt I believed her - Ha! No. I haven't. It's still difficult - just a different sort of difficult.

I feel that these days where my kids aren't all tucked in and fast asleep at 8 pm, and I'm not getting that "break" I spent years getting used to. Where the school days are longer and much more intense, where we roll into 5 pm barely done with schoolwork and I still have a 9 person family worth of housework ahead. Where the concerns aren't so much a toddler losing their mind in the middle of the grocery store half as much as how this culture is affecting my kids and what on earth I can do about it. There's a lot less knitting, sewing, baking and writing for me these days. I haven't arrived. Not by a long shot. But I'm beginning to embrace that maybe that was never really the point.

This life, it's never been about "set it and forget it." I can know this intellectually, but in practice it still smarts a bit. It starts in the beginning, where we want a baby to sleep through the night - and maybe they do. For a while. Until they don't. On and on with parenting we go, ironing out this or that issue, thinking - yes! There! Done! Until it's undone. Or something else crops up. On and on and on. Add more kids, and it's that doubly, or triply, or x7 more. We want that because it seems easier. Less work. We want to be done with difficulty so we can just sit back and relax.

But, as He always does, God gives us all these maddening opportunities along with a gift. The gift of growth, of sanctification. Instead of allowing us to stagnate, to atrophy in our lives - He uses life to invite us further. Deeper. Beyond what we could have ever fathomed possible.

It's that hook that I can hang my hat on. How I can look out on a Monday morning, with yesterday's laundry in a pile at the foot of my bed, with last weeks bills on my desk, with tomorrow's unfinished homework looming, next week's lesson planning untouched, today's toddler tantrums ramping up and 7 kids worth of Halloween costumes in the back of my mind - and believe that He is present in this chaos.

It's never going to get easier. But every day is better.

He has a plan here.

Every day. For His glory and our good.

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Begin Again

We've started back in that way we do, both resisting and loving the restructuring of our days into something a bit more productive, at least in the literal, pen-to-paper sense. Truthfully we've been producing things all summer - things like rest and contentment, things like space to breathe, things like friendships. It has been good, but it is time now, again, to get back to it. So we do - reluctantly at first, but getting better all the time. This year, 5 of my kids are being formally schooled. 8th grade, 6th, 4th, 2nd and Kindergarten.

On the first day, just after bible and prayers were hollered over the din of shrieking toddlers (isn't that how everyone prays?), I cracked open "A Wrinkle In Time" to share with my kids. This is my very favorite part of homeschooling. When I get to pull something dearly loved out of my past and hand it right over to my kids, like the precious heirloom it is. It has been many years since I've found myself in the pages of one of Madeleine L'Engle's award winning children's books but oh, it very nearly felt like the first time.

They just don't make books like this anymore. Not that I've seen for kids. The beautiful writing. The sophistication of ideas and plot lines and the grand supposition that, yes, you, little one, you can hang with a quick little lesson on quantum physics right smack dab in the middle of a child's fantasy. This type of book elevates thinking. It inspires and challenges, yet it avoids boredom by being unspeakably beautiful. It's real, good, thoughtful. It is art, life, science and faith all wrapped into one. It's a work of art, a labor of love.

Long after I closed the book and slid it into it's spot on the living room shelf, it stayed with me - just like a good book does. We went about our day with the usual swirl of laundry and personalities and meal time drama that consume our days, but my thoughts kept turning back. I think I know why.

Everything that I love about that book? Those are the things I love about our life. The things I want to cultivate in our days here together. A place where kids can be kids, but are spurred onward to be curious, to push themselves, to take on more and more responsibility, to ask questions. To seek the good, know the truth, rise above and claim rightness. To love life, art, science and faith. It's everything I want for my kids and, truthfully - myself. To know what it is to experience beauty in the every day.

To walk with God. To love one another.

It's the beginning of another school year and my friend tells me - "I feel like I've been run over." Yeah. That. But also? This:

Life is raw, real, relentless. People aren't perfect. Plans are almost certainly made to fall through and there never seems to be enough time.

But all.is.grace.

And it's a good, good life.

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Haphazard Summer Confessions

I paint toddler toes on the back steps, because that's the rule. No nail polish in the house, even though she runs right back through when she's finished and it certainly wouldn't be the first time I notice little flecks of nail polish on the hardwood floors. But I paint toddler toes because she brings it to me and this is my job. It's small and it's silly and it's mine.

This summer has been a bit ridiculous. I haven't had time to write, but what really have I been doing? I'm thinking back on it, this first Monday after vacation. What do I have to show for it? I feel this way at the end of every summer, when the days cool off and twilight flutters down a bit earlier each evening. On paper, it seems almost sad. I've started a handful of knitting projects and have finished none, even pulling them out in frustration that they don't seem to feel right. Try a different pattern, a different yarn? Take a week, a month off? Haphazard. My work out routines have lacked my normal focus and my plans for kids and chores and summer math went out the door months ago.

But sometimes the on paper list of what (wasn't) accomplished misses the bigger picture. This summer I became best friends with my neighbors, surely a gift after so much loneliness. This summer I opened up my home to a gaggle of kids and learned to not sweat small stuff. This summer I began cautiously dreaming about the future. This summer I feel stronger and more sure of who I am and what I want than ever before.

It's something I come up against time and time again, challenging me, stretching me, strengthening me. If you're so busying convincing yourself that the small things, the things you don't understand or haven't experienced, the things that feel frivolous or excessive or trite, that these things are ridiculous - you run the risk of missing out on a divine appointment. Because God doesn't just reach us in the thunderhead moments, in some sort of magnificence that dwarfs our every day struggles. The depth and height and breadth of His miracles are always, always that they apply just as surely to the humble things of human life as they do to the majestic.

So I've done a lot of toddler toenail painting and water table filling and dancing-while-breakfast-is-cooking and a lot of talking, singing, wishing, praying. But I'll never say that those things don't have the potential to carry every bit as much weight and power as anything else I could come up with.

I know better.

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Dishwashers and Dryers and Space-making Grace

Right smack in the middle of the summer, between sticky humid days that never seem to cool off, the dishwasher quit working. I pushed the start button twice, then three times - as if it just needed to be jarred awake. Hey - you've got a job to do. Wake up! I bought paper plates at the grocery store and stood at the sink late at night, plunged in deep, right up to my forearms. Before we found the blessedly simple fix, the dryer decided to take a vacation as well. On Monday afternoon I stand in a sun spot and hang wet clothes up on the line while the toddlers run back and forth beneath flapping sheets.

It's been a while since I've been here. That line waits between my garage and the oak tree but somehow life gets in the way when one clothesline is no longer enough to hold the laundry needs of a family our size. Revisiting it for a bit reminds me, like a gentle tug, of this type of meditative work that helps to center me, to free my mind even as my hands work. There's never anything small about the smoothing out of chaos, the gentle setting to rights type of work that makes up a housewife's days. It's here that I find order, and, thus, peace. It's here that my mind is unleashed to dream and to wonder, to listen, to pray. It's a good place I didn't know I missed.

The summer is beginning to wind down and we're in the middle of a whirlwind, visiting friends and family and so much goodness that my heart feels heavy at the thought of it ending. Because when this is over, then what? Just regular life. Nothing special. Work and school and life. But then appliances break and I'm reminded that every day is an opportunity to make space for grace. To beckon it close, welcome it in, hold it up. To look through it like a lens, aperture opened wide to let all the light in. It's a precious miracle just for us, and each time I'm reminded of it I wonder how it's just so easy to forget. There are no circumstances, no secret hurts, no busted up and broken lives that are exempt from grace.

It's all from Him and all for us.

All heaven and earth a wild tangle of unfathomable grace.

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At the Still Center

{It has been way too long. Summer is so wonderful, such a necessary time of stepping back and soaking in and I need it, this break. Sharing a post I wrote back in the Spring and never posted, because it's still true -- and sending you all love from here.}

My dear friend gave me a ride to and from Girl's Night this week and, because it had been too long since we last had a private conversation, we spent the drive catching up. Questions about life and work and how are you, really? floated between us as the car splashed through springtime puddles on the warmest night of the year so far.

I shared the frustration I felt whenever I was asked about my husband's current job because yes, it was a relief he had one but for many reasons, no, we aren't out of crisis mode. Before I ever make it to the explanation point, the inquirer is already turning away, satisfied that this chapter has already been tied up neatly. Because that feels good to believe. No one likes an unresolved tale. We all want to hear the happy ending - even if it's not true. It's comforting. Comfortable.

Our difficulties ending would be nice. They haven't.

Thankful as we are that he has work, it is a 30 minute drive away with our one car - often longer during the evening commute. It also frankly cannot be a forever situation for other reasons, mostly financial. Our crisis isn't over. Every day, struggles still loom before us like a massive wave and, at best, we're just treading water.

She understood. "It's like saying the roof's fixed when you put up a tarp to keep the water out. It's a bandaid." Yeah. It's just like that. Things aren't fixed. Not by a long shot.

All that said, there's a curious joy that has found me in the past few weeks. My hard headed plodding of "just do the next right thing" has helped keep us buoyant in a way. We plan the kids' birthdays. We do school and the kids are doing so well. I revamp the chore chart and we seem to have found a really nice groove here. Rhythm and (loose) organization and setting things in their proper places when the bigger things of life seem to sway unpredictably is unbelievably comforting. I cling to the joy small things bring. Staying on top of laundry. Making beds. Daily prayers and read alouds and baking birthday cakes.

So we're not done. Our struggles are not fixed, secure, or ended. But at the still center there is still that spark of joy. It is a loving and gentle God that gives us the ability to find pleasure in small things.

The more I think of it, the more I realize that buoyancy may just be a spiritual gift, showered upon us mere mortals for such a time as this. Struggles and unknowns and upturned plans are the norm, not the exception in a life like ours. As our children grow and begin their own lives and we hold space for them, this truth will only multiply. Being able to float along may just be the key to thriving with joy. Not just for today, but for a lifetime.

So I keep counting the gifts because they keep being revealed to me. And although there's just a tarp over our heads shielding us from whatever unknowns are coming along next, we are safe at the still center. Warmed with a peace that passes all understanding.

A work in progress.


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Accepting the Unknown

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Building a Sensational Summer

                   

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

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

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

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

Weekly:

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

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

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

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

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

Biweekly:

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

Go on a date. Self explanatory.

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

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

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

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





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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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Life Long Delight

Proverbs 8:30

...And I was daily His delight, Rejoicing always before Him, 

Rejoicing in the world, His earth...

I'm teaching myself how to charcoal grill. In my typical style, learning by doing - and by making plenty of mistakes.

As a kid, I was reluctant to try things I had zero experience with. If a group was playing soccer, I'd sit out rather than make an idiot of myself. On a date to play pool, I declined to participate rather than learn how. I never liked how that made me feel, but the alternative of appearing ridiculous felt much, much worse.

I'm so glad I'm over that.

In some ways, my 30's feel like the most free I have ever been. I'm in a place of being pretty comfortable with myself in most ways. Getting beyond self consciousness because who has time for that? Of course I still have some of that nervous kid inside. I prefer to make my mistakes in private, which I think is pretty typical, but I'm past living in fear of them.

So, I'm figuring it out. Not only is it something I've never tried before, but it is something my Mom never did. It was always my Dad's thing and I think I had some sort of unspoken expectation that it would be my husband's thing as well. A "Man Job." There's a special thrill to stepping beyond your own preconceived notions and forging new ways of doing things. I kind of love standing over a hot grill with my baby wrapped up on my back, sipping some ice cold wine, making this my own. It's stretching me. Delighting me.

Maybe that's it? My own brand of thrill-seeking is learning. Looking at something from all angles and thinking "yeah, I could do that. Let me try." At 32 years old, still finding things about this world that delight me. It's in these normal moments that I feel closest to God. Where I feel the joy of what this gift of life is really all about. Living other-centered, sacrificial lives isn't about eschewing delight. I need to remember that.

Created to create, delighted to delight, enjoyed embracing joy. This is how God loves us.

Reaching arms out wide to embrace all of it I can, as long as I can. Fearlessly.


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Raising Kids in Self Mastery

What is the hardest part of parenting for you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

will reap a harvest if we do not give up.

Galations 6:9

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Made For This

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The Desires of My Heart

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

(Augustine, Confessions (Book 1)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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Motherhood and Missions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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A Good Place

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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