Daring to Hope

   I love books.  Our home is overflowing with them. I seem to always have a bookmark tucked between the pages of a classic that I have been reading aloud to my children.  And the pictures books; overflowing shelves of silly and sweet stories that we have memorized but continue to read everyday.  Reference books...every topic and time period.  Our homeschool library has collected them all over the years.  But, even though I am always reading, it is very rare for me to be lost in a book.  A book just for me.

   I recently picked up Kisses from Katie by Katie Davis for my oldest daughter because it was on her biography reading list for this school year.  It has been on my wishlist for a long time and I swept it away as soon as it arrived.

   It is the story of a young woman who left her comfortable American life and travels to Uganda to serve and love the poorest of the poor. She then became the mother to a houseful of African girls and started a ministry to help educate and empower the people of Uganda.

   Her story has pulled at my heart so deeply because I have always dreamed of serving in Africa, but I know my heart would be so torn and I would just want to bring all the children home with me!  Her story is inspiring and I think I talked about it to everyone I saw that week while I was reading it.

   I was so excited to learn that she had continued her story in her new book, Daring to Hope: Finding God's Goodness in the Broken and the Beautiful.

   The story opens with a scene from Katie's kitchen.  I had to laugh as she described the scene of children running through as she is washing dishes and the trail of muddy footprints that they leave behind.  Here she stands at her kitchen window, and while her backyard view is African soil and mine is an American farmhouse, I felt such a kindred spirit with her.  She is just a mother trying to do her best.  Trying to show love in the most unlovely places.  She cooks and serves and kisses skinned knees.  She says she lives this ordinary life, though we all see it as so much more.

 Many years have passed between her first and second books, and while I read them only weeks apart, she instantly matured in between the pages.  Her story is not an easy one to write.  She shares the heartache and pain of great losses.  She is honest in her doubt and wrestled with God when her prayers were not answered in the way she had hoped.  And so much of her story is my story even though our lives are half a world apart.

  Her story is a beautiful reminder that God is still with us in the wrestling and that His plans are always for our good even when we don't understand.




*I received this book from Blogging for Books for this review.

Merry Day After Christmas!

It is early.  There is a stillness in this house that was nowhere to be seen yesterday.  There is no anticipation, no excitement, no wonder.  I am sitting here among the remains of a busy and exhausting Christmas: toys jumbled together all over the floor, empty boxes, and torn wrapping paper...and my children are sleeping in.

The day after Christmas always feels like a letdown.  The party is over and it's time to get back to reality.  But what if we didn't let go of Christmas?  What if we held on to the joy just a little bit longer.

Because the giving wasn't about the gifts, it was taking a little bit of ourselves and sacrificing it for another.  And the receiving wasn't about what we got, but humbling ourselves to accept and feel loved.  Because you are loved. 

And what if we made family time a priority every day; if playing on the floor with our children was always our only plan for the day.  What if every day I could ignore the mess, embrace the chaos, and just be in the moment.

This was our baby's first Christmas, and I wanted to soak in every moment, every reaction, every smile.  What if I treated every day like Christmas and gave them my full attention, cherishing every second.

What if our hearts sought out random acts of kindness all year long.  Would we leave cookies in the mailbox just to make the letter carrier smile?  Would we be a little kinder to the people we pass, smile a little more?  Would we mail out cards just to send encouragement?  Would our churches be filled every week and the poor not forgotten?

And so, today, as I start to clean up the mess and try to find room for all the new things, as I pack away Christmas for another year; I am choosing to not let go of the Spirit of Christmas.  Because it was all about Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us...and He's still with us even in the messy day-after-Christmas.

In His Arms

I will never forget our first date.

He nervously asked me to dance.  Neither of us had ever slow danced before and we stood there awkwardly looking at each other.  Our friend, John, yelled out across the room, "Hold her like Jesus would, Scottie!" and flashed his ornery smile.  I miss that smile. John is now among angels and that moment became one of my favorite memories of him.  I don't think he ever knew how much his words would mean to me all these years later.

As we danced, our friendship changed.  He held me in his arms for the first time and yet it felt so familiar.  In his innocent gentleness and quiet strength, I felt so safe and cherished.  It felt like...home.

4 years later in a white pine forest, he asked me to be his wife.  He slipped that ring on my finger, held my hands in his, and prayed over our new life together.  With tears in our eyes we thanked God for giving us this gift of each other. 

6 months passed and I became his bride.  We danced to that same song again on our wedding day.  Holding me in his arms...I was home.  In our 13 years of marriage he has never stopped holding me like Jesus would.  His unconditional love has carried me through the hardest moments.  He has loved me when I least deserved it.  He has loved me in spite of me.  He is my comfort through the tears, my strength through my doubts and fears.  My best friend when I have felt so alone.  My protector, defender, and my biggest supporter.

I have watched him hold each of our babies with the same gentleness and unconditional love.  It makes me fall in love with him all over again each time.  And now we are just weeks away from meeting our 8th child.  I know he will hold me through my labor pains and fears, speaking words of strength and peace. 

I am so humbled that God would bring this man into my life.  My first date, first love, first kiss...to be each other's one and only is truly a gift.  This little love story of two high school sweethearts has grown into a family of 10.  I can only imagine what God has planned for our family, for our children and the generations to come...and it all started when he asked me to dance.

Tomorrow is a New Day

This week our little 3 year old learned a new phrase and has been repeating it multiple times a day, as 3 year olds tend to do.

"Tomorrow is a new day, Mommy!" and he smiles sweetly and runs off to play.

I wish I knew what his little mind was dwelling on so deeply; but I'm realizing that maybe I do need that reminder throughout the day.

When my to-do list goes unfinished.
When I've lost my patience and life feels overwhelming.
When I declare, "I just can't!"

Tomorrow is a new day. A fresh start, a new beginning.  I may not be able to take back those words I shouldn't have said, but it is never too late to say I'm sorry. Never too late to try harder. Never too late to change.

Because every new day is full of purpose.  It is when I forget that, that my days just blend together. A blur of chores that are never really done, children who are always hungry, or fighting, or just so bored. A marriage that so easily fades to the back of the list because life is just plain busy.

But tomorrow, I have a new day. A day to choose joy and to laugh and play with my kids. To kiss my husband like I mean it. To serve my family out of love, not obligation.  A day to write that letter, to call that old friend.  To allow myself to slow down and drink that cup of coffee while it is still hot.  To read that book or pick up my paintbrushes again.

Tomorrow is a new day to choose forgiveness. To let go. To hold onto hope when there is nothing else.

Because if we've been given tomorrow, our story isn't over yet.

The Laundry Room is My Prayer Closet

It is early. I am up before the sun but I've given up on sleep.  I slip into the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee.  The gentle clinking of my spoon swirled through the mug rings loudly in this quiet house.

I warm my hands around this mug as I walk to the laundry room.  Setting my coffee down on the dryer I get right to work.

I fold laundry when I'm stressed.  Or angry.  Or when my heart is heavy with the things that hurt.

This place is where I hide when I need to cry and vent and learn to breathe again.  The laundry room has become my prayer closet.

My hands are busy sorting and folding and my heart feels free to be real with God.  I have cried to Him so many times over the battles I'm fighting, the pain, the worries, the fear.

As I chip away at this mountain, the gentle humming of the dryer creates rings in my coffee like stones skipped across a pond.  It's a peaceful place for me.  A place where my dirty chaos is brought into beautiful order.  It's a place where I let God take the mess of my life and wash it all away, giving me a fresh start.

The hamper is empty (for the moment) and I've poured out all that needed to be said.  The sun is filling the sky and my children are filling the house with their noisy energy.  My heart is no longer carrying this heavy load but full of peace.

A Tale of Three Marriages

This past week I held my new nephew for the first time.  I looked over at my little brother, all grown up now, a father to his firstborn son.  I saw him looking at his wife with new eyes.  Her 38 hour labor made him respect and cherish her so deeply.  There was so much love in that room.

I remember that moment.  As a young couple being joyfully married and thinking you could never love each other more than you do right now, and then this little child comes into your life and your heart grows a million times larger.  You see each other as so much more.  You love in a whole new way.


The week before, my husband called me on his way to the emergency room.  I could hear the fear in his voice, though he tried to reassure me that he was fine.  He hasn't been feeling well for a while, but his symptoms had escalated, and he needed to know what was going on.

It was so hard to see him like that.  He has always been the strong one.  The one I leaned on when I was scared, and now I had to be that for him.

These days are hard.  Our full house keeps us so busy.  We find ourselves missing each other even though we are right there.  Sometimes I look across the crowded dinner table, past the baby food splatters and spilled milk, past the siblings arguing and the baby crying and our eyes meet and I think, "Oh, there you are.".

We still need each other, not just to help unload the groceries and bathe the children, but to be strong when the other feels weak.  To hold the pieces together when one feels broken.  I have been praying for him harder than I ever have.  He hangs onto these prayers to get him through the day.  We are learning to love in a whole new way.


The week before this, it was my father who was in the hospital bed.  We were sitting in the Cath lab when we heard the results.  He had suffered a small heart attack, but could have  been moments away from a massive one.

My stubborn daddy, who waited three days to even see a doctor, May not have survived if he had waited any longer.

I saw my parents, who are rarely emotional, break down as they held each other, overwhelmed at the thought of losing each other.

This couple, married over three decades has lost a baby, lost a son, lost their parents, lost their home to a fire, lost a job...and yet through it all their faith has held strong.  Maybe they are appreciating each other more now.  They are still holding hands and learning to love in a whole new way.

The Joy of Helping

A few weeks ago, while trying to get out of bed that morning, my husband told me I looked like a turtle stuck on its back.  I laughed because that is pretty accurate as to how I have been feeling these days.  When I posted it as my facebook status, I never expected that I would learn so much.

Most of the comments I received were funny, but one made me cry: 

"Oh, sweetie...if you look like a turtle than it's probably time to get into your shell and let others help you out.  May I please bring you a casserole and a salad one day next week?..."

At first I was so touched by her sweet offer, but then the panic set in.  I still had 6 weeks until my due date, I felt like I didn't need help, I didn't want to take advantage of her.  I tried to talk her out of it.  I asked her to wait until the baby was born, because somehow I felt then it would be more justified.

But she sweetly insisted and a few days later showed up at my door with a beautiful dinner that fed our family of 8 for two nights (and a lunch!)

She had such joy on her face when she hugged me tight and made me promise that I would let her help again.

This was so hard for me.  I never ask for help, I never let anyone do anything for me.  I think it has come from all these years of not being able to go out in public with my children without hearing, "Oh, you have your hands full!".  I feel like I need to prove them wrong.  I need to show the world that you can have a home full of children and survive.  You can have joy in the midst of chaos.

But the truth is...it's hard.  Really hard.  I don't care if you have 1 child or 10, motherhood is hard.  Don't let anyone make you think that it's not.  To make you feel that they have it all together and you are a failure (especially me!).

There are so many days where I find myself in tears, crying to God for strength to get through the day (or maybe just the grocery store).  And so many times He calms my heart with a Bible verse to encourage me or a song to fill me with joy. 

But what I have learned through this is that sometimes He doesn't give us more strength...sometimes He brings people into my life to help carry my burden, to lighten my load.  And I need to accept this gift just as freely as any other encouragement.

I thought I had learned my lesson.  And then my best friend showed up with a bucket of cleaning supplies...she wanted to clean my bathroom.

No.  There was no way I was going to let her do that. 

I fought with her over it, but then I remembered what God has been teaching me, and at 9 months pregnant I was not able to clean like I wanted to.  Every time I walked into that bathroom I would tell myself that I needed to get to it, but I never did.

And so I agreed.  I sat there fighting off tears as she cleaned my shower and scrubbed my toilet.  It was embarrassing and humbling...but I knew that I needed to accept this gift, and in the end it blessed me more than I ever imagined.

Her daughter even brought over nail polish and lotion to give me a pedicure.  Of course all the kids joined in and I think I had a year's worth of lotion on my feet, but the kids had the biggest smiles on their faces and I would never deny them the joy of helping.

And now, as I am waiting for our baby girl to join our home, I think I have finally learned my lesson...and all because my husband called me a turtle.

A Decade of Parenting

It was 10 years ago that our first child was born. 

He was born exactly 9 months and one day after our wedding, just weeks after my 21st birthday.  We were young and in love.  We had prayed for this baby, but I don't think we had any idea of the adventure we were now taking. 

We brought our sweet-smelling, 7lb 6oz bundle home from the hospital, placed him in his brand new crib, looked at each other and said, "Now what?"

The next day we found ourselves in Children's Hospital.  Our baby was covered in tubes and monitors, alarms were screaming, while doctors and nurses rushed into the room to sweep him away.  The room went silent and we sat there alone in the dark trying to process it all.

My prayers came from the deepest part of me.  I begged for his healing but I also felt that I needed to accept whatever God's will may be for his life...for my life.

The sun came up the next morning and we were taken in to see him.  His little body looked even smaller in that hospital bed.  The doctors did not know what was wrong.  They didn't have any answers.  He was moved to the NICU, where we lived for the next week.

His name means "Jehovah saves" and it was during this time that we saw God's healing hand.

His life is a little miracle.  And now, 10 years later he stands nearly as tall as me.  He challenges me daily.  He has been my guinea pig through this decade of parenting.  But I am so proud of the young man he is becoming.

So now as he enters double digits, I am reminded that his life is still a miracle.  I may never know why his story began the way it did, but I know that God has big plans for him. 

As we start this new journey of parenting, my husband and I still look at each other and say, "Now what?", but I know that we are not going to walk it alone.

A Day of Hope

 The phone rings in the middle of the night, jarring me from my sleep.  My husband answers it and within a few seconds he is dressed and out the door.  There is an emergency that needs him and as he is running to help, I am laying awake in the dark.  My mind is racing.  This is my life as an EMT's wife, and no matter how many years it has been, I never get used to it.

  I lay in bed praying for his safety, and then my heart is aching for the family whose world has just been turned upside down.

5 years ago that was our moment. 

That moment when the phone rings and the room just fades away.  That moment when fear and confusion takes over and reality feels like a bad dream.   That moment when your faith and hope is all you have and your prayers come from the deepest cries of  your heart.

And then that moment becomes that day.  The day you are forced to say goodbye too soon.  That day when your life is forever changed.  That day when you feel like you've been broken into a million pieces and there is no way to ever put you back together.

The years have gone by and it is now the day that no one wants to talk about, but nobody can ignore.
It's the day when everyone tip toes around me for fear of saying the wrong thing.  But really, it's just another day.  It is not any different from the other 364 days a year that I think about my brother, Matt.  It is no different than every other day when I can close my eyes and bring back all those memories.
Maybe the wounds are still too fresh, but it's my desire that one day June 10th will become a day of hope.
The day when we finally realize that our prayers for Matt's healing were answered beyond what we could have imagined.  A perfect healing.  An eternal healing.  A day when we cling to God's promises and rejoice in Jesus' victory.
Matt's life is not over.  June 10th is the day when his life truly began.

Knitting Lessons

This past month I had the opportunity to take knitting lessons at the most adorable little yarn shop.  I have been crocheting for 10 years and tried many times to teach myself to knit, all of which ended with a tangled mess of yarn or stitches that fell apart.

I walked into the store and my eyes grew wide at the walls lined floor to ceiling with the most beautiful yarns.  Every fiber, color, and texture you could imagine.  I just had to touch them.

The instructor sat us at a small table and demonstrated the first steps.  It felt so awkward, like eating with chopsticks (which I can't do either!).

This was so much harder than it looked.  My neck and shoulders were tense.  I couldn't talk and concentrate at the same time, but eventually my fingers fell into a rhythm.

Then another wave of morning sickness swept over me and I was reminded of Psalm 139:13

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.

As my hands were knitting this crooked scarf, God is knitting a new little life within me.

My needles slipped.  I dropped a stitch.  I let out a gasp and humbly handed my mess to the instructor.  She took one look at my mistake, smiled, and effortlessly got me back on track.

Isn't that just how it is in this life? 

Just when I think that I know what I am doing, I mess up again.  I humbly hand my life back to God, He just smiles and brings me back. 

A Fresh Coat of Paint

This past weekend I painted our bathroom.  It's amazing what a fresh coat of paint can do to a room...and to my spirit.

It's a tiny room.  I thought I could get it finished while my little ones were napping, but it turned into a much bigger project than I had expected.

The painted trim was peeling so I had to start with sanding.  We wanted to remove the towel bar, which left 4 large holes in the wall.  There were spots to patch and more sanding.  I started cutting in with a brush, but the room is too small for a ladder; so I stood on the counter top, then took a lunge of faith to the opposite wall.  As I reached across the room, my legs burning, I tried to keep a steady hand as I painted the line beneath the ceiling.  I was suspended in mid-air on only my fingertips and tip toes.  My 5 year old walking in was very impressed with my spiderman skills. 

Then I needed to contort myself into awkward angles to try and paint behind the toilet, wondering if anyone would really notice if I didn't.

About halfway through, a bit of panic set in.  Is this color too dark?  Did I make the right choice?

Change is hard.

The fears I am trying to conquer.
The hurts I want to let go of.
The bad habits I am trying to break.

It's all hard.  But maybe those days when I feel like I'm not getting anywhere, maybe that's all part of the prep work.  Those days when I'm filled with doubt and wonder if I made the right choice...I need to remember that change is hard.

It's easier to hold on to the familiar, even the ugly, stained walls.  It's easier to hold on to my ugly because change takes time and energy, it stretches me and sometimes puts me in awkward positions.  Change is hard...but it's beautiful.

Every time I walk into that bathroom I smile.  I love the beautiful coffee and cream color of the walls, I love the fresh feeling in that space, and I remember all the work it took to get there. 

I know that I am going to get there too. 

"And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns."  ~Philippians 1:6

The Little Years

This week I held a friend's newborn baby.  All the beauty of new life wrapped up in pink.  Her tiny hands moved in slow motion and wrapped around my finger.  She slept in perfect peace.  Her newborn smell, the softest skin...there is nothing sweeter than a baby.

Then I looked over at my baby.  Walking and climbing and full of personality, he will turn one year old this month.  Where did my sweet newborn go?

Recently my husband and I made this growth chart for our children.

 

As I transferred their measurements to the new chart, I found myself holding back tears.  It was like watching them grow up all over again.

It was hard to remember my older ones when they only came up to my knee.  I looked at my little ones knowing that they are growing just as fast.

Every day the kids back up to the chart and measure each other to see how much they have grown in a day.  All I want to do is hold on tight and keep them little.

Yes, these days are long, but the years are flying by.

My husband and I do talk about the future.  We dream of the days when the children are independent and it's just us again.  But we also want to live fully in this moment.  These little years have been overflowing with joy and laughter.  They have kept us busy, running non-stop on little sleep.  But these years have taught us so much about ourselves and our love.

I know they will be over before we know it.  There is so much that I want to teach my children, so much I want for them.  I find myself scrambling, feeling like this precious time is slipping away.

But that's where I cling to grace.

I fail them.  I don't have the answers...or the patience.  I may run out of time before they fly.  But I'm holding on to God's promise that His grace is enough.

"All your children shall be taught by the Lord, and great shall be the peace of your children."  ~Isaiah 54:13

A Year of Change

 

I was standing at the kitchen stove stirring dinner when my husband came home.  He walked up to me and started playing a voice mail on his phone.  There was a crazy woman in a screaming rant.  My eyes widened.  I recognized the voice.  It was me. 

I remember that moment.  I was standing on a stool trying to fix something on a shelf above my head.  I was frustrated and when my daughter had interrupted me, my words flew at her like arrows straight to her heart.  She had been trying to call daddy, but when the call went straight to voice mail, it recorded every poisonous word. 

I was embarrassed and humbled.  There is nothing like seeing your failures caught on tape.

That night I cried to my husband.  There is so much that I want to give these children.  So much that I want to be.  I am failing daily. 

I don't make New Year's resolutions, but I do believe that this year is going to be a year of change for me.  A year of letting go of even more and finding joy unspeakable.  Something new is being stirred in my heart, but for the real work to begin I need to be laid bare. 

I think that ugly moment was what I needed to see.  I am thankful that it was recorded, as much as it hurt, as much as I wish my husband hadn't heard it... it needed to be brought to the light. 

I am weak.  I am a mess.  I can't do this on my own.  But His grace is enough.  His power is made perfect in my weakness.

Peace

This past weekend I had just walked into a busy store when a flashing red light caught my eye.

Only 17 days until Christmas!

I stopped for a moment and stared at the sign.  Instantly my mind went to my to-do list, all the gifts I planned to make, all the money I don't have yet to spend, all the dozens of cookies I have to bake...and then the panic set in.

I dodged the other shoppers' carts as I made my way to the craft section.  I was here to buy fabric to make stockings.  Some how when I unpacked our Christmas decorations, our family of 8 only had 4.  Every year I say I will make more, but I never get to it. 

I touched every shade of felt and flannel trying to find the perfect one.  My husband looked overwhelmed. 

"Why don't we just buy stockings?"

"No." I protested, "They are going to be family heirlooms.  I can just make them.  Look I'll make matching ones for everyone...I can embroider our names on them...and what if I applique felt shapes on them...like angels for the girls and shepherds for the boys, and ours could have Mary and Joseph and....."

"I'm going to look in the Christmas section", and he walked away from me.

He found stockings for $6 and each kid picked out a color.  Done.

I wrinkled my nose.  They weren't perfect, but I gave in.  I had too many other things to do anyway.

~~~

Earlier this season I had promised myself that I wasn't going to stress out this year.  I wanted to enjoy Christmas.  I have spent so many Decembers trying to do it all that I have missed the joy.

How did I let this happen again?  I let myself get caught up in my to-do list. 

I shook it off.  No.  This year I will keep it simple.

I had a conversation with my sister-in-law about this:
"I don't want to bake you cookies", I confessed.

"I promise I won't bake you any cookies either!"  We laughed at our ridiculous deal, but I think we both breathed a sigh of relief.  Freedom.

I realized that I don't have to do anything.  My overachieving is not helping anyone.

What did the angels sing?
"Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth PEACE to men on whom His favor rests"  Luke 2:14

Peace.  When was the last time someone described the Christmas season as peaceful?

Christmas is not an emergency.  Christmas is a gift.

This year I am craving a gentle and quiet spirit.  I am choosing to rest in His peace and share in His joy.  I still have a to-do list, but it's not a "have to-do list", it's what I choose to do.

I am going to bake cookies with my children, and let them eat all the pretty ones.

I am going to give freely without worry if it's enough.

I am going to focus on the moments that make Christmas so special and leave out the things that distract me. 

Am I worried that people might be offended by this?  A little, but I think that if I am feeling this way, then they probably are too.  Maybe we all need to just be honest with each other, take a deep breath, and just calm down. 

I want to look towards Christmas with child-like anticipation, not overwhelming worries and stress.  Keeping it simple doesn't mean it will be empty.  We can still have a very full Christmas, just one that is full of the things that really matter.

In the Shadow of the Cross

It was late and I was tired.  Another day of filling needs, calming tantrums and cleaning up messes that I didn't make.

I made my rounds through the house; turning off lights behind me.  I touched the last lamp.  The glow of the moon filled the darkness.  I had forgotten to close the curtains to the double window.  Moonlight against the window panes cast the perfect shadow of a cross on my living room floor.

It stopped me in my steps.  The image was so large and so perfect, I couldn't pull myself from it.

I had to share it with someone.  I called for my husband to come see.  He was already in bed; wondering why his crazy wife was staring at shadows on the floor.  He wouldn't humor me.

I stood there overwhelmed by the shadow.  A cross in the center of our home.

By sunrise the shadow was gone, but it will stick with me forever.  What if we really lived in the shadow of the cross?

Would we be more loving in the presence of the greatest love?

Would we forgive more freely, being reminded of how much we have been forgiven of?

Would we speak with more grace in the shadow if His amazing grace?

Would we allow the same things in our home?  Would we just have to share it with someone?

Because, the truth is, if we truly believe in His love and have accepted His gift of grace...if we stand up and say, "As for me and my house we will serve the Lord"; then our lives are lived in the shadow of the cross.  

Our Frugal Summer

Early in the Summer I was having a bit of a pity party for myself.  Money is tight and we couldn't give our kids a lavish family vacation (or any vacation at all).  There weren't going to be trips to the amusement or water parks.  We committed to the bare necessities and I worried that my kids would resent me for it.  We were just weeks into summer and already they were singing the "I'm bored!" blues.

They didn't want to be home...when their friends had swimming pools.  I felt like I was always filling their requests with "No" or "Not right now...", and it all didn't seem fair.

I was frustrated.  Frustrated with all that I couldn't give them, and with all that they were asking for.  Wasn't I raising my children to be grateful?  Weren't we striving for a simple life full of love and laughter and not just things?

How had we lost our focus?  We were not being thankful for all we had and allowed things to control our happiness.

I had had enough.  I didn't like who I was becoming and if I wanted my children to change, it had to start with me first.

I started a Summer Bucket List:

I filled it with simple things we loved that we could enjoy as a family for free or almost free.

Waiting for the fireworks to start

Eating watermelon outside

Taking a walk on the beach

Backyard campfires and lots of S'mores!

Blueberry picking

Growing sunflowers

Our Summer was full.  As we learned to enjoy the simple things again, we became even more creative.  We made so many beautiful memories.

One hot afternoon we set up a $5 slip and slide and borrowed a kiddie pool.  When the kids were exhausted from playing we handed out ice cream sandwiches and ate them under my willow tree.  I overheard my daughter exclaim, "A water park in our yard and ice cream?!  This is the best day ever!"

I looked at my husband and smiled.  Our water park looked rather pathetic, but to our children it was glorious.

As our summer is winding down we crossed one more memory off our list.  We set up our tent in the front yard and slept under the stars.

I laid there in the stillness of midnight, listening to the crickets and even catching a shooting star.  I looked over at my sleeping family, all 8 of us crammed in a tent on our lawn.  I just had to smile.  It was ridiculous, but it was beautiful.

It was in this moment that I remembered how blessed we truly are.  I thought of all the families who live like this everyday because it is all they have, and the families who just wish for a roof over their heads. 

This morning I am tired and sore from sleeping on a lawn that is more dirt than grass.  But I think it was one of the best night's sleeps I have ever had.  My body may not feel refreshed, but my heart is renewed.

"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." ~1 Thessalonians 5:16-18



Join me at Smalltown Simplicity!

Pulling Weeds

I was inspired by reading Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts to start my own list of simple blessings.  As I was reading over my list I found that I had written a particular blessing 3 separate times.

In this list full of beautiful things and treasured moments, there 3 times I had been so moved that I wrote "pulling weeds" in my thanksgiving journal.

I'm sure most gardener's would not count their weeds as a blessing.  My flowerbed is cluttered with them and they grow more abundant that anything else in my yard.

Pulling the weeds has been a huge job, but it is a gift.

I love those moments where I stand bent over my garden, face flushed and dripping in sweat from the Summer sun.  Dirt under my fingernails and between my toes.  My hands are busy picking and choosing which plants will stay and which must go.

I take out my frustrations on those weeds.  It gives me time to think, or maybe not think, if that's what I really need.

By pulling out what's not necessary I'm leaving behind only the beauty.

And there is the blessing.

My little garden is so bare.  I don't know what I am doing.
I am a complete beginner and maybe that's why I find so much joy in each new flower...it feels like a little victory, a plant that I didn't kill.

When I pull the weeds I can see all my little victories in full bloom.

Now if only I could pull all the weeds in my life.  All the ugliness that is hiding the beauty.  All the clutter that keeps me from growing.  All the lies and hurts that hide the sunshine...

God is the perfect gardener.  He doesn't get tired.  He doesn't forget to water.  He is there ever watching and waiting  to nurture me.  He has a beautiful plan for me and knows what I need to grow.  Sometimes it means pulling some weeds.

Stolen Moments

It is hard to find quiet time with God in the midst of my crazy days.  I live for stolen moments...those quiet times when I can sneak away to read my Bible or pray.  It's these moments that recharge me and calm my heart. 

I wrote this song in a stolen moment...and as I tried to record it you can hear the kids playing in the background and my toddler walking into the room...but that made it even more special.  I hope this song inspires you to find joy in your stolen moments.

God knows my favorite color

Our kitchen truly is the center of our home.  It is where we cook and eat, homeschool and make crafts.  The walls are lined with little fingerprints, spills and crayon art.

I have been wanting to paint for the last year and a half that we have lived here but it was never within our budget.  Every time I tried to save up for it, something else always came up.

It was hard to be patient and I tried to be content, but this is where I spend most of my day, every day and the stained walls were really getting to me.

A few weeks ago I was going through the stack of paint samples that I had been collecting.  I finally decided on one, "Sanctuary" by Behr, and stuck it on my fridge.  I was determined to save up for it this time, even if only with my change jar.

One morning over coffee, my sister-in-law's eyes began to sparkle, "Do you want to paint your kitchen?"  She ran up to her attic, pulled out the cans of leftover paint she had and marched over to my house. (She recently moved in next door!)

The next thing I know, she is brushing dark green color on my kitchen wall.

Her home is beautiful with rich, warm colors, but I know they are too dark for my husband's taste.  I really liked it but she suggested that we add a little white to it.  She poured her whole gallon of green paint into a bucket of white and when she stirred it, it became this beautiful and soft green; the color of rosemary.

I grabbed the paint chip off of my fridge and held it up to where she had brushed it on the wall.  It was a perfect match!  We could not have made it any closer if we had tried.

I started to cry.  Here were 3 gallons of paint, in my favorite color, just handed to me.

God gave me "Sanctuary" just to make me smile.

Our NICU story

I didn't fully grasp the depth of a mother's love until I stood over my sick child in his hospital bed.

Our firstborn was a perfectly healthy 7 lb, 6 oz baby boy.  We brought him home from the hospital two days later.  The next morning we received a phone call from our pediatrician.  His blood test had come back abnormal, and we were told to rush him to Children's Hospital.

My head was spinning.  I just couldn't understand.  He looked fine, but over the next 12 hours as we sat in the ER, he became lethargic and refused to eat.  He was admitted to the hospital for observation and IV fluids.

During the night his monitors started beeping frantically and nurses rushed into our room.  They swept him away, leaving my husband and I alone and completely in shock.

We had so many questions and no one had answers.

I locked myself in the bathroom and just sobbed.  Was our baby gone forever?  I felt completely helpless.

We prayed through the night, but our words felt so empty.  I watched the sun rise and hoped that it had all been a bad dream.

We were brought in to see him.  His tiny frame covered in tubes and wires.  His body was shutting down.  His heart rate had dropped and he had moments when he stopped breathing.

He was then admitted to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.

The NICU is a scary place.  It is the reality of life and death on the most innocent little ones.  It is a place where nothing seems fair.  But it is also a place of miracles.  A place you can be so thankful for and yet never want to see ever again.

Our baby boy was healed.  He is now 8 years old and stands nearly as tall as me. 

I don't know why the NICU was part of his story, our story, but he is a walking miracle.  My heart goes out to all the mamas that are there and that is why I am so excited to share a new project with you. 

NICU Daze written by my friend Elizabeth Norton and Megan Crume is a 30 day devotional for NICU families.  It is written by two mothers who have been there and want to share their story in order to breathe a little peace and hope into the most hopeless of moments.

It also features my artwork on the cover!  It is a drawing that I made during my first pregnancy and then had it sitting by our baby's bed in the NICU.  

It is currently available for Kindle only and debuts on Mother's day.  All proceeds made on Sunday, May 13th, 2012 will go to the Ronald McDonald house; a home away from home for many NICU families.