A Jar Full of Memories

   One year ago I cleaned out an old pickle jar and set it on my kitchen windowsill.  And there it sat, just waiting to be filled.

Anytime we laughed until we cried, I wrote it down.  The silly things my kids said, I wrote it down.  Holidays and celebrations, birthdays and firsts, I wrote them all down and they went into that jar.

By Summertime the jar was starting to fill up, but we added pieces from our adventures: ticket stubs, wristbands, and event flyers.  A few hospital bracelets from some not so fun memories, and the pink ribbon that was tied in a bow around our surprise puppy's neck.

New babies were born into our family, and we had said a sad goodbye, and their names were all added to the jar.

There was an excitement growing as the jar was filling.  Our year was coming to an end, but it had been full.  On New Year's Eve, as we waited for the countdown to begin, we sat around our kitchen table, all of us a year older, a year fuller.  And we took that jar off the windowsill and the memories poured out.

As I read each card aloud, we laughed, we told stories, we remembered, we were thankful.  It felt very much like a goodbye to the past, but there was an excitement for what is to come.

Then I set that empty pickle jar back on the kitchen windowsill, and there it sits just waiting to be filled.

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.

A Simple Christmas

It is 5:30 am and I am sitting here by the light of the Christmas tree enjoying the quiet stillness of a December morning.  The wind is howling outside, but my coffee is hot and my home is filled with gentleness and warmth.

The Christmas season can be so full of excitement and busyness, but I always find a magical peace sitting by the glow of Christmas lights.

I am 39 weeks pregnant.  As my children are counting down the days 'till Christmas, as we prepare our hearts through this Advent season, we are also waiting for our baby boy due on Christmas day.

This has, by far, been our simplest Christmas.  I've given up on my expectations and guilt.  I am only doing what I can do.  We've missed a few traditions, but maybe started some new.

We took off an extra week of schooling and I have used this time to read stories to my kids snuggled up together.  We've cut out paper snowflakes and made ornaments for the tree.  We are baking cookies just for us and watching Christmas movies.

I am just enjoying my children, soaking in their joy and anticipation.  I am learning to rest and quiet my heart.  I've let go of the stress and accepted that this Christmas will be what it will be.

And that, in itself, has been a gift.

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.

Finding Beauty in the Gray Hairs

I have been hesitant to share this post for a while now because it is such a personal decision.  But New Year's is about a fresh start and embracing change, and I couldn't think of a better day to share it.

This is me, gray hairs and no makeup.

I found my first gray hair when I was in high school.  My best friend would sit behind me during biology class and pull them out because, after all, what are friends for?

In my 20's, the few gray strands became more than a few and the people in my life started to notice.  I heard comments from both men and women.  Maybe they were just trying to be helpful, but pointing out my gray hairs is not the same as telling me I have spinach in my teeth, and their words left me feeling embarrassed and insecure.

I spent many years staring into the mirror, running my fingers through my hair and asking myself, "Should I dye it or not?"

For some reason, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. And why not? Everyone else was dyeing their hair...

I guess I felt that once I started, there would be no turning back.  I am all about keeping life simple, and I watched my friends struggle with keeping up with their roots.  I was a busy mother with a full house, the last thing I needed was another thing on my to-do list.

But now in my 30's, my reasons for embracing my silver highlights have become much deeper.  

I asked my husband for his honest opinion of my hair, and his response really surprised me.

He smiled, "We are growing old together."

I looked at his scruffy gray whiskers and the few white hairs starting to show at his temples, and I had to smile too.  There it is, the promise.  The promise to grow old together, to love in the good and in the bad, and to share this journey through every stage of our lives.

And we are in a new stage.  Our older children are inching their way towards being teenagers and our baby is now a toddler running around the house.  

I am feeling older and maybe a little wiser, and I'm learning to be more content.  I want to accept and embrace this stage of my life for all its worth.  The babies that left their marks on my body, the laugh lines that are forming from years of joy, the gray hairs that remind me of the promise, it's all a part of my story.

I want to inspire my girls that they are beautiful at every age.  They don't have to grow up too fast or fit into someone else's mold.  True beauty is a gentle and quiet spirit.  It is a joyful heart and living out all that you were created to be...in this moment.

I wish I could say that I am completely confident in this, but it is still a struggle for me.  This year I am learning to embrace the beauty in every moment, every stretch mark, every gray hair.

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.

Lessons in the Garden

We made some ambitious garden plans this year, more than doubling our existing garden plot.  I was a little nervous about how I was going to manage it all with a new baby and a toddler.

At first, I would wait until they were napping, grab the baby monitor and sneak outside while the big kids played in the yard.  But they didn't always sleep at the same time or I would soon hear them stirring in their beds and have to head inside.  They also took their naps during the hottest part of the day, which left me baking in the afternoon sun.

I decided that if I was going to tend a garden, the little ones would just have to join me and this soon became some of the sweetest moments of my summer.

I spent our days taking the little guys on a wagon ride while I walked around the yard watering plants.  It wasn't easy trying to pull a wagon full of kids and drag the garden hose along, but they loved being a part of my garden chores.

They helped me drop seeds into the dirt, and while all my rows grew crooked, I would never trade perfectly lined up plants for their beaming smiles.

The kids and I talked about everything.  We examined the shape of the seeds and they were amazed that something so small could grow into something so big.  They learned to identify plants by their leaves.  They practiced self-control to not pick every pretty flower because the flowers turn into fruits and vegetables.

My two year old learned his colors because "we don't pick green strawberries, only the red ones".  Green beans have purple blossoms and snap peas have pink ones.  Sunflowers are bright yellow. 

They sniffed my lavender and mint and felt the prickly leaves of the zucchini.

We talked about which garden bugs are good and which are bad. 

Potatoes and carrots grow underground and harvesting them is like digging for buried treasure.

We counted as we picked and took guesses as to how much we would harvest that season, keeping tally marks in my garden journal.

And now as my summer garden is fading, they are learning where the seeds are hiding and helping me save them for next year.

The garden is a family project, full of lessons and moments that we will never forget.  I am so thankful that I let go of my perfectionism and let the kids get their hands dirty.  This summer spent in the garden, surrounded by my children, was my favorite place to be. 

Little Guys Can Do Big Things Too

This week our family was invited to visit Diggerland USA to help celebrate their partnership with Activation ReAct.  While our trip was complimentary, all opinions are my own.

Activation ReAct is a non-profit on a mission to provide ways for people of all ages to lend a helping hand during environmental disasters within the United States.  We have seen first hand the recent devastation of hurricanes Sandy and Irene in our home state. Activation ReAct encourages children and families to use their talents creatively to fundraise for the victims of tornadoes, hurricanes, wildfires, floods, and other natural disasters.

Activation ReAct's Founder and President Elizabeth Norton

 

My husband is an emergency medical technician.  During blizzards and hurricanes he is out braving the storms in an ambulance, while I am home cuddled up with our children.  They may be too young to help in the same way, but I love that Activation ReAct empowers them to use their talents to serve others any way they can. 

Activation ReAct has gained the support of Diggerland USA, a construction based theme park.  Our children were able to see the same types of heavy machinery used in clean up and restoration after the storms, being used for fun.

They rode on excavators and dumper trucks, drove mini-land rovers and tractors through an obstacle course and other fun and unique digger rides. 

 

 

The highlight for my older kids was the rock climbing wall and 4-story tall ropes course.  While I took my little ones on the playground, I watched my older children strap into their safety harnesses and start to climb.  They have never experienced anything like this before and I was so proud watching them challenge themselves in this way.

My petite 8-year old daughter beat her brothers to the top of the 32 foot high rock wall, and her face was shining with excitement, confidence and pride when she reached the top.

Our time at Diggerland created family memories that we will never forget and, I believe, gave my children a big boost of confidence.  They learned that little guys can do big things too, which is what Activation ReAct is all about.

For more information visit:

http://www.activationreact.org

http://www.diggerlandusa.com

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.

36 Weeks...

I've been pretty quiet lately, life is full here.  Between homeschooling, soccer games and getting ready for our littlest one I haven't had much time or energy to write...but I wanted to stop in and share with you some of our maternity pictures that we had taken last week.

 I've never done this before with any of my pregnancies, but when my friend Elizabeth showed up on my doorstep with her camera as my husband and I were getting dressed up for a wedding, it seemed like the perfect timing...and she made me. :) 

I am so thankful that she did.

 At 36 weeks pregnant I wasn't feeling particularly beautiful or glowing...but maybe what I needed was to see myself through someone else's eyes...and camera. 

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

Our Everyday Fairy Tale

We don't celebrate Valentine's day.  We used to and I don't really remember when we stopped.  Our anniversary was always much more special to us.  It was a day to reminisce and remember why we chose each other.  A day that was just for us, that we didn't have to share with all the other couples in America.  And so, Valentine's day just became less and less important.

I honestly never thought about it until this year.  This year I threw myself a big ol' pity party.

My friends were sharing all their plans with me.  All the extravagant dates and romantic getaways.  I cringed at the thought of all the facebook statuses with photos of their gifts and nights out.

I complained to my husband. It didn't seem fair.  Everyone else was getting swept away to the ball and I was left at home to scrub the floor.  My night would be just like every other night: big, messy and loud with our half-dozen running around....

He cut me off.  "Do you hear yourself?!", my eyes grew wide, "Do you really want to be like them, do you really want their life?  Because this is our life and I love our life together.  I don't want what everyone else has.  I want you."

He always speaks the truth to me.  He has a way of holding up a mirror to my heart and showing me all the ugliness that doesn't belong.  He knows me.  He knows who I really am and he knows when I need to be put in my place.

The truth is he spoils me.  He spoils me so much that I have taken it for granted.

 He gives me flowers...just because.  He brings home little surprises all the time.  He tells me I'm beautiful every day and kisses me like he means it.  He writes me love letters, though words don't come easy for him.  He holds my hand every time we sit together, no matter where we are. He prays for me and cherishes me.

I was jealous of how others were spending one day and forgetting the beauty of my life that is full of love.

Our love story is so precious to me.  It may not always be pretty and over the top romantic, but it's ours.  It's an everyday fairy tale.

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.