the one on hats

For 31 years I have worn hats.

 

Many years and many hats. And it's funny, because I'm not really even a hat girl. Sure, some of the hats I wore well for awhile before tossing them to the side. Some of the hats I tried out were attractive and suited my personality, but others were a complete bust. A totally wrong fit. Not the look that I was going for at all. And some of the hats I timidly tried out in the past, I still wear today. Now a completely comfortable fit, they are a part of who I have become.

I wear the hat of 'wife', and I do believe that hat suits me well. Sometimes wife looks attractive on me, and other times not so much, but I am learning as I go that it is not really about how I look in that hat anyway. It's about him, the other half to my whole. My partner. I don't wear the hat of wife to make myself look good. I wear my wife hat for Boss. To bring warmth to his life.

I wear the hat of 'mother'. Definitely a hat I tried on timidly at first, but now you couldn't pry that hat from my head if you tried. And sometimes my mom hat is frumpy, and it flops to the side, and certainly there are times it has seen better days. But sometimes my mom hat is so colorful and bright and I know in my soul that the best years are still to come. I love both versions of my mom hat because they are me on this journey, and I will wear that proudly all the days of my life.

I wear the hat of 'Christian'. You notice that I place this hat third, and not at the top of the list where it rightly belongs. This in the name of honesty. Because the truth is that my Christian hat gets pushed down. Every day. All the time. It's somewhere at the bottom of my increasingly crammed closet, but I do make sure and pull it out for special occasions. Like Sundays. And when I need something. I definitely wear my Christian hat when I need something. And it fits awkwardly, like it's not actually sure if it belongs on my head or not, but I slap it on anyway and hope that it fits 'good enough' to fool the masses, without ever really stopping to consider the fact that it does not fool God.

I wear other hats, too. I wear the 'homeschool mom' hat and the 'mom of a big(ish) family' hat. I wore my 'foster parent' hat for seven years. I have tried on the 'photography' hat and the 'runner' hat (that was perhaps the funniest hat of all), before deciding that neither hat was for me. I have worn the hat of both 'nursing mother' and 'bottle mother' and honestly, I liked both looks (gasp, to admit that in written word). I have never worn the 'have your child on a schedule' hat. I should wear the hat of 'homemaker' and 'cook' more often than I do. I wear the hat of 'reader' quite often, because other's hats always seem to be better looking than my own. I dream of wearing a 'writer of words that people read' hat. And if nothing is looking quite right on any given day, in any given season, at any moment of the year, then I go shopping for new hats. Because heaven forbid I should leave the house with a naked head. Because then people might see the exposed me, and then they will know. If I don't have a hat to hide behind, then people will know the truth: that I have no clue who I am.

For 31 years I have worn hat after hat, all in the name of finding myself.

And then yesterday, this:

"I stopped trying to find myself and decided to seek God." - Mark Batterson from his book All In.

To think that it really could be that simple. That there really might be a divine reason that I actually don't look good in a variety of different hats. To think that less really is more, and God really is more than enough. To think that in the releasing of the hats is where I would find God, and in Him is the very me I have been searching for all along. Oh, goodness gracious, the freedom I think I could find if I could really let it all go.

And simply seek God.

It's worth a shot, I do believe.

Lookout, Kansas, my naked head just might be coming your way.

made for more

It's that time of year again. The time of year where the Boss man heads back to work, big yellow buses begin to roll by, and children everywhere head back to the classroom. Unless you are one of my crew. And then you stay home.

When Boss and I first made the decision to home educate (over four years ago, now), we knew there would be things we would be asking our children to 'give up'. The special first day of school excitement, the holiday classroom parties, skipping with a best friend to the playground after lunch, and the general feeling of goodness that comes with being a part of something that is larger than yourself. And sometimes when I think about it for too long, even four years later, I still get sad that my children are not a part of those things. I worry we have scarred them in some way by keeping them from the traditional American way of life.

But then I am reminded.

Deep in my heart I am reminded that my children were made for more than this world. They were put here for a purpose, to embrace their calling as a Christ follower should they choose to give Him their lives, to fulfill the plans that God has for them. Plans that include knowing God more and more each day and pointing others to Him on their journey. My children were not put here to get caught up in all of the current cultural trends, to be swept along with the world as it spins madly around and around again. And for all that my children have had to 'give up', there is one thing that they have gotten to keep. Each other. Our family does life together. Every single day, all day. The good, the bad, and the ugly of it. And that is what I love most about this journey of home education. I love that we do it together.

I know there are those who do not believe home education is for them. And personally, I am good with that. We all have different stories, different heart stirrings, and I believe if we are committing our ways to the Father he will guide us in the direction we should go. But for us, homeschooling provides the hope that we can hang on to our children's fragile hearts. For us, homeschooling allows us the day in and day out opportunity to mold the little people God has blessed us with into men and women of big faith. Soon enough our children will fly the nest and our steadfast prayer is that they will fly stronger and more assuredly because of their years spent in our home.

This year our focus is books, books, books. We will squeeze core work in, too, but the majority of our time will be spent with our noses in the cover of a good book. I want my girls to read solid stories about ordinary people who turned their lives over to an extraordinary God. I want them to see that God has had a plan all along. For his creation, for the people that lived in Bible times, for the country that we live in today. And I want my daughters to be inspired, to know that God has a plan for them, too. We will read about Christopher Columbus and Anne Frank. George Washington and Helen Keller. We will see how God continually uses faithful people to fulfill His purposes time and again and really, is there a greater lesson that my children could ever learn? I don't think so, and I am excited to see where this year will take us.

I don't know where you are in the story of your own life, but I want to dare you to dream BIG. To hand the writing of your story over to the very Author who created you in the first place. It is our prayer and the focus of our family this school year. The constant handing over of the pen, and then handing it over once again. And who knows? The beautiful chapter that we (you) have been longing for might only be but a page away.

on making it count

Beginnings are usually scary, endings are usually sad, but it’s what’s in the middle that counts. (Hope Floats)

And that's where I am in life. In the glorious middle, striving and hoping every single day to make my days count. My middle finds me in Ohio, married to a really good man. A really good man that I do not deserve. He folds laundry and sweeps floors and washes dishes and changes diapers and earns the paycheck. He tells me that I am beautiful and he dances in the living room with our daughters and he makes our boys smile. I take him for granted and I shouldn't. My middle finds me the mama to four children, and my oldest is nine and most days pass too quickly for comfort. Because the only thing growing faster than my children's bodies are their feet, and the screen door swings open as they exit with the early morning sun and it doesn't swing back shut until that morning sun is setting low. And there are bellies to be filled and baths to be had and then it is off to bed with a kiss and an I love you. And as another day passes I wonder aloud, did this one count? Did I make the most of my day, my time, my life? Because you only get one. One life to make count. And the truthiest truth is that most days I feel like I didn't. I slept too long or sat too long or spent too many minutes reading about other's grand lives while wishing mine was something other than what it is, instead of determining to make my one life the happy that I dream of.

I read on a sign today that bold change requires bold commitment. And I want that bold change in my life. In the story of our family. Not change in our setting. Our setting is my happy place. And not change in our cast of characters. I wouldn't trade my family and friends for the world. The bold change that I long for is a bold change inside of me that spills outward and up and all around. The bold change that takes someone (me) from merely existing through life to fully embracing it. Because I am tired of busy and debt and extra weight. And I am tired of snappy tones and frustration and discontent. And I am tired of just 'waiting' until this or that happens and then and only then can our happy begin. Because our happy is now. Right here in this glorious middle. And I fear we are living some of our very best days and we don't even know it, because we are living our days in this world that is spinning out of control.

In the heavenly realm the first are last and the last are first. Less is most definitely always more and God is always more than enough. He is everything. But most days I don't choose to live with a heavenly mindset. I choose to get caught up in the current of our culture. Our world where the first and the prettiest and the wealthiest are the most important and where we can never have enough. Of what, I don't actually know. I live in a realm where God seems nice, but it doesn't seem like he is really real. At least not in an alive and active kind of way. So I walk around in this world where we have it all wrong, and I continually bump my head as I try to turn myself around. Because this world I am living in is exhausting and in the inner most places of my soul I know that I was made for more.

And so that is what I am seeking. This more. This more of God. And scripture says that if I empty myself before him then he will fill me up. And that if I seek him I will find him. And it will take bold commitment but it will be worth it for bold change. Bold change in this glorious middle where I currently find myself, so that at the end of my days I can find that they did indeed count.

good stuff

a tale of twenty five dollars

So, he did it again.

Remember this story? The one where I shared that God so generously provided for all of our needs, right down to the very last penny? Well, he did it again. God came through for our little family once more. I don't know why God consistently shows up. I am certainly undeserving of the constant reminder that he hears, he cares, and he is in control of all things. But there is nothing cooler than when we can see God at work in our lives. Of this I am convinced.

****

Boss and I know of a family in need, so I suggested that Boss pull out an extra twenty five dollars last Wednesday evening when we were at the bank. My thought was to gift this other family with the money, so that perhaps they could buy a meal out this coming week. My hope being to ease a bit of their stress. Obviously twenty five dollars is nothing big. It would only be a little something, but I am into 'little somethings' these days. Little somethings are a good place to start. And who is to say that little somethings will not one day turn into big somethings? But I digress.

So, I asked Boss for the money. Boss hesitated. Not because Boss is uncaring, but because he is the one who handles our finances and he knows how much is currently in our account. Or isn't in our account. Things will remain a bit tight until our property on Fieldcrest Lane sells. To be honest, Boss and I argued a bit over whether we should pull the twenty five dollars out or not. It was not our best moment, but in the end, giving to others won out and the money was withdrawn. We both desperately want to become people who are faithful with little, so out the money came, with us specifically discussing that God is faithful and able to provide for our needs right down to the very last penny.

Fast forward two hours and our family entered the church building for Wednesday evening services. A sweet woman, whom I have recently loved getting to know, approached me and handed me a card. She told me (as she always does) that she had been thinking of and praying for our family, and that she wanted to give us a little something. Some fun money to buy pizzas for an easy supper after the new baby arrives, or to use sooner for whatever need we had. We chatted a bit more, I thanked her, and then she walked away. As we got in the car to drive home that evening, I opened her card. Care to guess how much money was inside? You guessed it.

Twenty five dollars.

The exact amount of money that Boss and I had been arguing over taking out of the bank to share with another, this sweet lady so generously shared with us. On the very same night. Feel free to call it coincidence if you like. But I prefer to believe that it is just another way for God to show that he hears, he cares, and he is in control of all things. Right down to the very last penny, God will provide.

the very real me

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(This post is linked to Raising Arrows Welcome Home Wednesday)

Oh, goodness me, I am a dreamer.

I dream of a happy marriage and many children. I dream of making our home a haven. I dream of family adventures, a cute little camper to travel the country in. I dream of writing words that make a difference in the world around me. I dream of living a life that matters, of serving others until it hurts to do so. I dream of being more, of doing more. I dream big.

And sometimes, if I am being completely honest, those sweet children that I said were part of the dream (and they are), and that home that I want to make into a haven, sometimes I feel as though they get in the way of me finding the real me. Because surely there must be more! I sometimes feel that if only I could push it all aside, if I could lay the responsibility down, then maybe I could really shine! If I could peel back the layers of motherhood and homemaking, then maybe I could find what it is that I am meant to do. Who I am meant to be. Maybe I could find the very real me. And it's true. Sometimes I am so busy living in the land of my dreams, that I forget to live life well in my reality.

But God has been teaching me. He is always teaching me.

This motherhood and homemaking is for but a season. And a short one at that. God, in his infinite wisdom, designed it that way. There will come a time when my body will no longer be capable of carrying a child. I will always be a mama, but one day my chicks will leave the nest (and then I will sob like a baby). And I will always be the keeper of our home (wherever that may be), but the day will come when my responsibilities to our home will be less. The load will lighten. And then I will be free to pursue other callings. But for today, for right now, my calling is here. In my home and with my children. And there is no other setting that I am better suited to shine than this very setting that the Lord has placed me! For this very season! I am doing exactly what I was meant to do. Mama is who I am meant to be.

And I can't tell you how freeing this lesson learned has been.

My current job is to live the life I have been given well. To love, nurture, and care for my husband. To raise my children to be disciples for Christ. To make our home a haven. These roles make up the very real me and they are enough. I don't have to keep searching. My calling is clear.

sunday inspiration

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Monday – Wash Day
Lord, help me wash away all my selfishness and vanity, so I may serve you with perfect humility through the week ahead.

Tuesday – Ironing Day
Dear Lord, help me iron out all the wrinkles of prejudice I have collected through the years so that I may see the beauty in others.

Wednesday – Mending Day
O God, help me mend my ways so I will not set a bad example for others.

Thursday – Cleaning Day
Lord Jesus, help me to dust out all the many faults I have been hiding in the secret corners of my heart.

Friday – Shopping Day
O God, give me the grace to shop wisely so I may purchase eternal happiness for myself and all others in need of love.

Saturday – Cooking Day
Help me, my Savior, to brew a big kettle of brotherly love and serve it with clean, sweet bread of human kindness.

Sunday – The Lord’s Day
O God, I have prepared my house for you. Please come into my heart so I may spend the day and the rest of my life in your presence.

 

- Author Unknown

 

I have seen this sweet poem floating around on several sites and I found it to be especially inspiring as I have been busy setting up our new nest. So many chores! My list is a mile long and if I am not careful I tend to become so focused on the project at hand (washing dishes, unpacking boxes, hanging pictures, folding tiny baby clothes) that I forget what is truly important.... being right with God and working on my insides before moving outward. If all of the clothes are washed, folded, and put away, but my spirit is full of selfishness, grumbling, and complaints, then it is all for not. I will still have failed at the task at hand.

 

As we enter this new week, let us fix our eyes on the things that are of most importance! And simply trust that everything else will fall into place.

lesson from the lady on the bike

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We are moving Wednesday morning (as in the day after tomorrow) and this past week has been a frantic scurry of finishing up home school cooperatives, work, and packing. Packing, packing, packing. I will admit that despite this move being an answer to prayer and something we are incredibly grateful for, I have found myself becoming a bit nostalgic as of late. I really did like this silly old house and our life on Fieldcrest Lane. Our home here sits on a picturesque plot and in the land of nostalgia I tend to forget all about the broken heat pumps, the broken water pumps, the leaky ceiling, and the thousands of dollars we have poured into this place that we did not have. I close my eyes and all I see is charm. The children swinging high on the tree swing out back, cooking hot dogs over the fire pit, picking apples from our trees. And my heart gets a tiny bit sad that we are leaving. It feels a bit unfair that we have struggled so much with our finances this year, and I am tempted to feel sorry for our family and to feel jealousy towards those who have 'more'. Just keeping it real. But God is always so good at meeting me right where I am.

Yesterday morning our family was driving to church and we passed a woman on a bike. The bike was loaded down with belongings and the woman was wearing a furry white coat, peddling hard against the wind. Boss pointed out that the woman on the bike can often be found attending our church. I nodded and agreed that I had seen her before. And I felt slightly guilty for the 'woe is me' attitude I had been sporting this past week. There we sat in our moving vehicle (one of two that we own), our children nicely dressed, just going through the motions of getting to church. No effort or energy was being exerted on our part. To the woman on the bike, those speeding past in cars must look as though they have it made. I must look as though I have it made. Because the truth is that I do. I have it made. Only I  can't see that truth when I am pouting.

And then our minister? He did it. He preached on pursuing poverty. On laying everything we have at Christ's feet to be used by him in whatever way he sees fit. On valuing people over possessions. On not letting our desire for money and things be greater than our desire to do God's will in our lives. And then our minister challenged us to open our wallets. To take out whatever change we had. To come forward and put our offering, large or small, in the plate to be given to those who enter our church building looking for a hand up. To empty ourselves before God, trusting that he will provide when we have need. .

I opened my wallet and found a dollar bill. It didn't seem like much, certainly not worth walking forward for. I almost snapped my wallet shut when I saw her. The woman in the white coat, the one we had passed on her bike on our way in. She had shown up and she was walking forward. I have no idea what she gave, but that's not the point. The point is that she gave. Someone with so few earthly possessions found the strength to empty herself before God. And she encouraged me to do the same. My dollar went in the plate.

I left church with a different attitude. This house on Fieldcrest Lane is lovely, but it is not necessary. And the money we have poured into it this past year? Not at all how we desire to be spending our funds. There are people in this world, people right here in our community who are in need. And it is not God's desire that we should be spending all of our 'spare' change on our possessions as we have done this past year. He desires us to pour out ourselves, all that we have, before him, instead of pouring out ourselves, all that we have, on a picturesque lifestyle. Needless to say, my pouting has ceased.

I do pray that our property on Fieldcrest Lane sells quickly. And once it does, I pray that our family will have the courage to do with our funds what we should have been doing all along. Giving them right back to the one who so generously gave them to us in the first place.

happiness

(my oldest daughter. she makes my heart happy.)

Today was happiness.

For the first time in who knows how long, the children and I had nothing on our agenda. Not one single thing. No school lessons, no work, no pressing responsibilities, no packing for our upcoming move. So I declared it happy day, a day for doing whatever we wanted. Not having an agenda is happiness.

For three hours this morning, all three children played together in the girls room. Nicely. There was only one crying spell, because Jack wanted to be Belle and his sisters would not let him. Hopefully having a new brother will one day cure Jack of his love for the Disney princesses. Children playing together nicely is happiness.

For three hours this morning, I sat on the couch with my feet up. I have not sat and done nothing during this entire pregnancy. My ankles look beautiful. Beautiful ankles at eight months pregnant is happiness. Come to think of it, simply having ankles at eight months pregnant is happiness.

After lunch, my parents came and picked up all three children for the afternoon. They do this every week, but usually I am working and do not get to enjoy the quiet. Today, the quiet was all mine. Happiness. So I did what I love most in this world. I took my large, pregnant self to the bookstore. I ordered my favorite drink, a White Chocolate Mocha with a splash of raspberry (today it was iced, as this baby is causing some serious hot flashes), walked through the aisles and breathed in the books (the smell of books is my favorite), and then claimed a large, overstuffed chair for myself. And there I sat for three more hours. For those wondering, that brings us to a total of six hours of sitting in one single day. It is quite possible I may never want to get up and productive again. Sitting for six hours is happiness.

While I sat, I read Mark Batterson's book Soul Print. Mark Batterson is currently rocking my world. He is not the most splendid writer on the planet, but his messages seem to be meeting me right where I am in my walk. Soul conviction is happiness.

Seven quotes from Soul Print that brought me a bit of happiness today:

When your life is over, the world will ask you only one question: Did you do what you were supposed to do? - Ziolkowski

In God's grand scheme, it's never about orchestrating the right circumstances. It's always about becoming the right person.

When you stop living for selfish purposes, the pressure comes off. And that's when your destiny comes into focus.

Until we experience death to self, we'll never come to life in the truest and fullest sense of the word.

If you want to find yourself, you've got to look for God.

Your real, new self.... will not come as long as you are looking for it. It will come when you are looking for Him.  - C.S. Lewis

If you aren't careful, your God-given dream can become more important to you than the Dream Giver Himself.

Life is busy. It probably always will be. But every once in a while it feels nice to pick a day, clear the calendar, and focus on the things that bring our soul's deep and fulfilling happiness in this life. For me, that day was today.

For me, today was happiness.

Among Thorns

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A seed among thorns.

That's me.

I tend to skip over the parables in the Bible, as if I don't need to be taught any lessons. But this morning the lesson jumped right off the page.

The seed (the word of God) that fell among thorns stands for those who hear, but as they go on their way they are choked by life's worries, riches and pleasures, and they do not mature. (Luke 8:14)

Choked by life's worries, riches, and pleasures. That's what jumped out at me.

I want my life to produce a crop for the Lord. I want my days to matter. I want the point of my life to be to point to him. In everything. I want to get this living backwards thing right. Jesus first. All else second. And I do believe my heart is in the right place. I have good intentions. But then I get choked by life. And instead of producing a crop, I am merely a seed among thorns.

I have already shared my hope that our new move produces a new movement in our family.  Less space for us to fill up with worldly clutter, hopefully equals more room for God to work in our lives. Less places our money needs to be spent (just to make ends meet), hopefully equals more to give away. Less of being in the world, hopefully equals more of the world seeing God in us. That is my hope. Those are my intentions.

But then I get caught up in the worries. What if our current house does not sell? What if the world doesn't understand what we are trying to do? And I get caught up in the worldly riches and pleasures. Like paint samples, and designing a beautiful space in my mind. Light gray walls with cherry, turquoise and lemon accents would look nice, I really do think. And our table might not fit, so perhaps we should get a new one. And if our house does sell and we are able to create a new budget, how fun to be able to purchase all of the pleasures I see in my Pinterest dreams!

And just like that I get choked up, all thoughts of less of me and more of God gone. All thoughts of more to give away gone. And we are back to the old way of life. Fitting Christ in around the edges of our very American lives, instead of fitting our lives around him. A seed among thorns.

But praise God the story does not end there. The last part of the parable gives us the key to being successful at producing a plentiful crop.

Perseverance.

Though the world will forever try and choke us with its worries, and its riches, and its pleasures, we can persevere. We must persevere. Because Christ did not come so that we could remain the same. He came so that we would have the chance to change. The continued chance to produce a plentiful crop.

Because of Christ, we do not have to remain a seed among thorns.

follow Jesus

 

(source)

I feel like our family is about to embark on a new journey. Sure, we are just moving back home, back to where the corn grows tall, but it is an opportunity for a fresh start. And I love a fresh start. Fresh starts allow me to reevaluate my life. To think on who I am, where I have been, and where I am going. This particular fresh start is allowing our family the opportunity to step back out of the quest for the American Dream. To focus once more on what is most important in life. And we have been reminded, once again, that what is most important in life is not keeping up with those around us. The most important thing we can ever do, both as individuals and as a family, is to follow Jesus. Daily. In all that we do. In every decision that we make.

I have been thinking long on these thoughts as I fold tiny clothes and pack up kitchen boxes. And as I have been reading his Word, he has been teaching me every step of the way. Teaching me what it really means to follow him.

Have you ever noticed that when Jesus called his disciples to follow him, they just up and left? Just like that? They didn't pack their over night bag, or pack up kitchen boxes. They didn't leave a twelve page to do list for those left behind. They didn't tell Jesus to give them just one more stinking minute, and then they would be free to follow. They didn't even ask Jesus where they were going. The Bible tells us that those whom Jesus called left everything behind to follow him. Immediately. No questions asked. No matter the cost. (Matthew 4:18-22)

And I wonder, what has following Christ cost me?

I thought on this last night, but couldn't come up with anything significant.

In high school, perhaps following Jesus cost me popularity. Maybe a few friendships. I didn't drink or smoke, and decided early on to save sex for marriage, so that often left me out of the party scene. But I wonder, did I not do those things because I was committed to Christ, or because I was afraid of the consequences? There is a difference.

As a houseparent for seven years, perhaps following Christ cost me a bit of personal comfort. There were a few children who came into our care that I did not care for. At all. I tried to find one good thing about every child we came into contact with, but on at least four different occasions during our time of ministry, I came up empty handed and wanted that particular child removed from my home. Because when it came right down to it, I didn't want to feel discomfort. I did not want to deal with the bathroom issues of a child who was acting out, and I did not want to sit up all night long with a raging child who was not my own. Actually, I don't want to sit up all night long with a raging child who is my own. So I had the child who was  hindering my comfort removed. I told myself that it was for the sake of my own children, and partly it was, but mostly I think it was for the sake of me. And I wonder now, what if I had tried loving that child as Jesus did? What if I had put following Jesus before my own personal comfort, and taught my children to do the same? Would that have made a difference? Maybe. Maybe not. But it couldn't have hurt.

I am thirty years old. I have been a 'follower' of Christ for most of my life.

And it hasn't cost me a thing.

Not really. Something is wrong with this picture. Something in my life needs changing. I cost Jesus everything. Following him, really following him, should certainly cost me something.

It is so easy to get caught up in the American Dream. I know, because it happens to me on a regular basis. The home with the white picket fence and the two car garage. The two cars that fill the garage. The two children (one boy, one girl, in case you were wondering) and all of the activities that accompany them. The vacations, the shopping and the spending, the eating out. The comfortable life. We don't want to have to give any of it up. Not even for Jesus. Because it's all that we know. We want to work Jesus into our already full lives, instead of working our lives around him. We have it all backwards. And I wonder what the world would be like if we were able to turn it all around?

I wonder what my life would be like if I were able to turn it all around? To start with Jesus first, then add everything else in after him. Or around him. Always keeping him front and center. Or what if I didn't add anything else in? What if Jesus was enough? What would a life of just Jesus cost me? Most importantly, is it a risk I am willing to take?

Along with our new nest, our new baby, and our new look in this space, I am desperately hoping for a new perspective.

Because just Jesus is sounding pretty good. And I desperately desire to follow him.

(Don't forget to enter your name in the giveaway I posted below!)

Pay It Forward

I have a friend who shines. My friend is an amazing photographer and she is an even more amazing person. I have no doubt that she could be anything she wants to be in this great, big world, but right now she has chosen to focus her time and attention on mastering all things mama. I love that. In a world that is so often self focused, we need more women committed to teaching and training the younger generation. We need more women who are willing to give themselves away in all the ways that matter most. My friend is inspiring.

Recently, my friend decided that she wanted to pay it forward, so she began stepping forward.

In line at Yogoot, with the cashier at the grocery store. It didn't matter where. If her heart felt led, she gave. Kind words, money, a smile. Whatever she had to give. For several days, she purposefully gave back to those around her, and she inspired me to want to do the same. But I didn't. I held back. Because sometimes giving can be scary.

Because what if you give something away, either something material, or something of yourself, that people don't like? What if giving something away is uncomfortable, and stretches you in ways you aren't sure you want to be stretched? What if the person you are giving to doesn't appreciate the gift you have to offer? What if your gift is rejected? What if you are rejected?

All of these worries, all of these questions, often keep me from giving to others the way that Christ has called me to give. All of these crippling thoughts keep me from shining Christ's light to the world around me. But I am tired of the worries, and the questions, and the crippling thoughts. I am tired of being too afraid, and admittedly, too selfish, to give something of myself away. I want to let my light shine in every way possible. And I want to inspire others to do the same.

My family has many blessings. It is easy to look around at what others have and think that we really don't have all that much. But that just isn't true. I read today that a family making more than fifty thousand dollars annually is in the top one percent of the wealthiest people in the world. According to the world, my family is wealthy. So why do I cling to what we have like I must hold on to it with all of my might? Why not open my hands and share the blessings with others? What if we all did that? It isn't a new concept by any means, but it is a concept I am convinced Christians do not think on often enough. I know it is a concept I do not think on enough. And that needs to change.

And so in honor of my friend who shines, my friend who was brave enough to step forward, I want to pay it forward. In honor of the blessings, the answered prayers all around me that I am often too stubborn to see, I want to pay it forward. To you. It's not a big thing, but it's a start.

Recently, three things have changed my prayer life and I want to share one of them with one of you.
















The Circle Maker by Mark Batterson. Awesome book. It will change the way that you look at prayer. It will help you to dream big, pray hard, and think long. This book reminded me that the God who performed amazing miracles in the Bible is the very same God that I serve today. Powerful.













The Duggars: 20 and Counting by Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar. I realize, and respect, that not everyone agrees with the choices that this family has made regarding their lifestyle. But their choices don't make their story any less powerful. It is evident that God is working in their lives. While the second half of their book talks of raising a large family and homeschooling, etc., the first part of their book is my favorite. It is where I read of the pink blanket prayer. The first part of the book shares the beginning of their story, and it gives evidence of how God has answered their prayers. Powerful.

A Pink Blanket Prayer Notebook prepared especially for you by me. Ever since I have created my own pink blanket prayer notebook, where I record my prayers and God's answers, I have seen God move in my life like never before. I would love to create a pink blanket prayer notebook for you, too. Powerful.

If you would like one of the above books to be yours, leave your name in the comments below. Next Wednesday (March 27th), one of my children will draw a name and the person whose name is selected will get to pick one of the itms listed above. And if my mama is the only one who leaves her name (because I know she reads my blog), then she gets a new book. So be sure and leave your name, Mom!

I want to pay it forward, so I am stepping forward.

Perhaps you will consider doing the same? It doesn't have to be much. A smile goes a long way to brighten a lonely soul's day. It doesn't matter what we give. All that matters is that we give. Of our time, our gifts, our energy, our money. Or a book filled with wise words that has the power to change a life. Because that's what I have to give today.

So leave your name. And then step forward, so that you can pay it forward to someone else. Share with your neighbor, or the man on the corner, or with the world, something that has inspired you. Let your light shine like my amazing friend. And together, we just might make a small difference.

Less is Often More

Last of the birthday posts. Promise.

Thank you for my best happy birthday, Mama!

My son keeps saying this to me with a huge smile filling his little face. The last three days he has partied hard. And he has been loved well.

The longer I have mothered, the more our birthday celebrations have changed. In the early party days we did things up big. Think pony rides and giant inflatables. It was a statement of sorts, to celebrate my children in big, public fashion. But at one particular party, I stopped and noticed my daughter's face. It was the pony party of 2008, and despite the amount of money that had been spent, my daughter was not having fun. Her small face looked sad. The only time she smiled was when the planned activities were over and she was free to run and twirl and dance with her friends. That party taught me a lesson.

As with most things in life, less is often more.

So we slowed things down. Less people, mostly family, sometimes close friends. Not as many planned events, more of allowing each particular child to be who they are. To love what they love. To embrace them turning another year older in a more intimate and personal fashion. And my children started smiling at the thought of their own special day again. We have not celebrated each child less, we have simply been striving for more than the boxed version of typical childhood celebrations.

At three years old, Jack is into cheese burgers and trains. So we gathered grandparents, we ate cheese burgers, and we went to look at trains. And that smile you see on my son's face was there for the entire day. Precious! We blew up balloons, ate cake, and opened carefully selected presents. And that was it. And it was more than enough.

Sometimes, I think as parents, we put the pressure on ourselves. We are the ones who look around at what everyone else has, at what they are able to give their children, be it parties, toys, or experiences, and we think it is our responsibility to keep up. We believe that somehow, if we do less, it means we love our children less.

But my children have taught me that less is often more.

My children don't care about keeping up. They just want to love what they love and to be loved. Those two things are all it takes to produce spectacular smiles. To love and be loved is more than enough.

Happy 3rd Birthday, Jack. You are loved. And you are more than enough.

Miles Down Memory Lane

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I have walked many miles down memory lane, rereading our family story here in this space.

In many ways, we have traveled far in the last six years that I have been writing. We have gone from babies, to toddlers, to young ladies. We have gone from two children, to four. Boss and I are nearing a decade of marriage together. Ten years of marriage to my best friend. We have moved three times, and taken new jobs. We have been involved in work that matters. The souls of our shoes are worn, but the walk has well been worth it.

In other ways, I know that we still have a long way to go. As a family, and as individuals. I look back and read of  things I was going to work on five years ago, many character traits and habits that needed attention and changing, and I realize that some of those things still need changing today. I still want to be a better wife, a better mama, a better keeper at home. I still want to know God more, to be a better steward of the gifts I have been given. Though many miles have been traveled, still many remain.

But two things have remained constant on this journey of my life.

My humanness, and God's faithfulness.

I see evidence of this on nearly every page that I have written. His hand on every part of my story. I can't see where I am going, God shows me the way. I tear things apart, God puts the pieces back together. I am broken, God is the healer. I sin, God forgives. I plead to be heard, God answers. Every. Single. Time. So much of the past, God has redeemed, but I was too busy to notice. It turns out, he was answering my pink blanket prayers all along.

In 2007, our family visited the welfare office. Boss has a college education, a Masters degree, and he has always worked, in some seasons, nearly 80 hours a week. But we did not have enough to make ends meet. We stood in that line, heads cast down, embarrassed at our plight. When we left, Boss
shed tears and tore up the paperwork. He said we would find another way. I looked at my daughters strapped into the backseat of our car, and I worried. But over the years, God has always provided. We have known seasons of plenty, and we have walked through seasons of want, but we have always had just enough. Exactly what we needed. A prayer was answered.

In 2008, we began desiring to grow our family. Things were much better financially, and we longed for a third child. We thought adoption was the path we should take. We pursued it for over a year, but every door was always closed. A year and a half later, and we learned that our first son was on his way. A prayer was answered.

In 2009, we learned that the school where Boss worked was out of funds. His dream job was going away. It was a blow to our hearts. Today, my husband is thriving as Principal of a new education program that was created after the demise of the school where he was first working. He loves his job. He finds purpose there. This job supports our family almost entirely, where the other job did not even come close. A prayer was answered.

In 2012, I miscarried our fourth child. A child I had longed for. My secret dream. Today, I am less than ten weeks away from meeting our second son. A prayer was answered.

All along, God has been answering.

I started this blog for my children. To record the story of our family. So that years later, when we look back at the pages here, we can see for certain that God worked great things in our lives. Mostly, I try to look forward, to keep pressing on towards the goal. But every once in a while, it is good to look back. To walk miles down memory lane.

Pink Blanket Prayer

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It started with the story of the pink blanket prayer.

Several weeks ago, I was reading The Duggars: 20 and Counting, when I stumbled upon the story of the pink blanket prayer. The Duggar's second daughter, Jill, wanted a pink blanket. A pink blanket similar to the one her older sister had. But the Duggar family got this money thing right from the start. If it was not necessary, you did not need it. And Jill did not need a new pink blanket. She simply wanted one. So, her parents encouraged her to pray. Her parents encouraged her to ask God for a pink blanket. Not because a pink blanket is all important in the grand scheme of life, but because they wanted to teach their daughter to take all of her cares to her Creator. They wanted to teach Jill that nothing is too big, or too little, for God. So, Jill began to pray. And the story goes that sometime later, as Jim Bob was cleaning out an old car he had just purchased for his used car lot, what should he find in the back of that car? A pretty, pink blanket, of course. And Jim Bob knew that God had answered his daughter's simple prayer. Her pink blanket prayer.

At first, I must admit that I scoffed a bit at the story. It had to be coincidence, did it not? God wouldn't answer a simple prayer about a pink blanket. Surely not. But then, as I thought about the story over time, I realized that my problem with the story was jealousy. I wanted my own pink blanket prayer to be answered. I wanted to know that even in the small things, God heard, and he answered. So, I began to keep track.

I bought a pink notebook and divided it into five different categories: faith, family, friends, personal, and life/other. And over the past several weeks I have listed any prayer requests I have had, big or small, under the appropriate category. Inspired by the faith of a child and her pink blanket prayer, I began to list my own pink blanket prayers. Areas of my life in which I was asking God to work. And as I have prayed more fervently than ever before, God's work has been astounding. So many prayers answered in such a short amount of time. And I give the glory all to God. I have come to believe, or rather to know, that God is there. He is waiting to work on our behalf. He simply wants us to ask him to do so. He wants us to acknowledge his power. So, I daily list my cares, big or small, and I wait in watchful anticipation of how God is going to answer.

(source)

The story of the pink blanket prayer has changed my life. My pink blanket prayer book, a constant reminder that God is always at work. I want to encourage you today to lay your requests at your Father's feet. Big or small, he can handle them all.

Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you. Matthew 7:7 (New Living Translation)

A Morning Lark

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Nearly seven years ago, I birthed a beautiful baby girl. My second daughter. She lit our entire world with warm rays of sunshine, but after her birth, my soul started sliding into darkness. Anxiety consumed me. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before. I had always had a timid spirit, a fearful heart, but this was different. This anxiety, this darkness, was all consuming.

In the weeks leading up to Kate's birth, I heard a story about a mother who suffered a heart attack and stroke several hours after delivering her second child. There were no warning signs. Tragedy just struck. And being that I was just weeks away from delivering my second child, I could not stop thinking about that mother who passed away. I could not stop thinking about her story. Because if tragedy could happen to her, it could happen to me!

The day finally came when I would get to meet my new daughter. I desperately wanted to meet her, but I was scared. So I waited at home as my labor progressed. My water had broken hours before, the contractions were strong and regular, but still, I waited. Finally, Boss convinced me that we needed to head to the hospital, if not for me, then for Kate. And so I agreed, for the health and safety of my unborn daughter. But had it been only about me, I would have sat at home forever. Home felt safer than the unknown.

We had an uneventful birth. A much easier birth than what we experienced with our first daughter. Boss did his best to hold my hand (he does not do birth), my mom was able to be in the room, and everything went just as it should. And then finally, after nine long months, they handed me my beautiful new daughter. She had the most glorious head of thick, dark hair, a button nose, and her eyes held a hint of blue. And she was so tiny! The nurses all claimed she should have been on the cover of an Anne Geddes calendar. And my world really did light up. For hours, I loved her and held her. I kissed her tiny face over, and over again. And as long as the sun was shining outside, sun also shined in my soul. But then night came. Boss took Emma home to sleep and my mom stayed with me. We settled in for the night, but I could not rest. I could not stop thinking about that mother who had died. And along with the darkness of the night, came a deep darkness in my soul. I could not have explained it if I tried, but I felt it. My heart started racing, the anxiety began mounting, and I was certain that I was having a heart attack. The nurse came and gave me something to help relax me, yet still, I could not find rest.

The next morning, my blood pressure was sky high. The doctors, who were unaware of my mounting anxiety, began to run all sorts of tests. And the more tests they ran, the more afraid I felt, and the higher my blood pressure rose. To the point of scary. To the point where they were scanning my lungs for blood clots and strapping me to the bed in case I seized. I had never felt more fear in my entire life. After about a week, my doctor found a medicine that worked to successfully lower my blood pressure and life went on. But the anxiety went on, too. I took my blood pressure constantly. I refused anti anxiety medication, because the listed side effects of the medication gave me even more anxiety than I already had. Funny to think about now, but at the time it was anything but. One doctor suggested I breathe into a brown lunch sack when I felt anxious. I informed him I would need to have it clipped to my neck at all times.

And my life became a pattern. During the day, when the sun was shining bright, I was good. But at night, when darkness prevailed, I could not find rest. All I could find was fear. And that is when I became an owl. A night owl. When the rest of my family went to sleep, I stayed up. I watched mindless TV, searched the web, read a book. Sometimes until the wee hours of the morning, when the first rays of light started to fill the sky once more. Anything to keep my mind from wandering. Anything to keep the darkness at bay. And then, when I was so tired that I could not see straight, I would crash. The hours I began keeping worked great for my anxiety, because for me, light equaled safety and darkness equaled fear. I could rest when it was light. But the hours I was keeping were not great for my role as mother.

For seven long months, I suffered in the darkness. For seven long months, I kept the hours of an owl. For seven long months, my marriage suffered and my family suffered. Boss took on most of the responsibilities of each day, so that I could sleep when I felt safe. And my biggest regret is that fear robbed me of the early months with my beautiful second daughter. I can't remember anything about those days except for the darkness that consumed me.

But, as with most things in life, the intense fear eventually passed. Anxiety no longer consumed me. I began to function again. And we laugh now when we talk about those early months after Kate's birth. We laugh that some of Emma's first words were blood pressure cuff. We laugh that I could not take anxiety medication, because thoughts of the medication gave me more anxiety! We laugh whenever we see a brown lunch sack.

Most of the events of that time are behind us. All but one. I am still a night owl. The hours I keep are much better, they still allow me to function as a mama, but those first few hours of darkness still consume me. So I sit up and wait for sleep to come. And then I pull myself out of bed the next morning to be mama. It works, but it's not the mama hours that I want to keep.

Because I don't want to be an owl, I want to be a lark.

Rising early with song, joyful for each new day to begin. Greeting my children with a kiss and a smile, rather than having them pull me out of bed with their daily pleadings for breakfast. And some morning quiet time would be nice. Some time to start my day with God. Time to be in his Word.

God's Word constantly talks about being an early riser, and it is beginning to convict me.

Mark 1:35 And in the morning, rising up a great while before day, he went out, and departed into a solitary place, and there prayed.

Psalms 5:3 My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O LORD; in the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up.

Proverbs 31:15 She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens.

And God's Word talks much of being a part of the light.

1 Thessalonians 5:5  For you are all children of light, children of the day. We are not of the night or of the darkness.

I am becoming convinced that I cannot honor God with my life if I continue to let the darkness consume me. I can't be the mama that I want to be, if I do not rest when my children rest, and rise before they rise. I am owl enough to know that is not wise. I want to be a child of the light. I want to be a lark. My Christian walk is a journey. Ever changing, walking closer with the Lord each step of the way. And while sleep habits may not seem all that important to some, for me, it signifies something more. It signifies letting go of the darkness and entering God's light. It signifies the next step on my journey with the Lord. It has been seven years coming, but I am ready to be a lark.

 

 

 

 

 

YES

(here is the LINK for this project)


I love this. I really do. Another way to shine the love of Christ in a dark world. Because Christ? He offers the gift of water, too. To the woman at the well (John 4:1-26). To me. To you. But he doesn't just offer water. He offers the gift of living water, so that all who drink of it might never thirst again. And if all of us who already know what it is like to never thirst (physically or spiritually),  if we all partnered together to offer a village in need the gift of drinking water, perhaps that very village just might catch a glimpse of living water in the process? Perhaps, because of you and me, they might catch a glimpse of the very One who saves?

Can you imagine going from feeling a physical thirst on a daily basis, to your very soul never thirsting again?

It seems impossible, but that is exactly what God does. He makes the impossible possible.

Yet even still, I must confess that this is hard for me. And I hate that. I hate that mint green and coral dresses were already calling to me from the aisles at Target (silly Target, always trying to trip me up). And I hate that I actually feel like I might suffer a small bit if I don't get to buy those dresses. Because in reality, I know NOTHING of suffering! My babies are hydrated. My babies are fed. My babies will look beautiful, whether dressed in mint green and coral or not.

So why is it so hard? Why do we cling so tightly to the luxuries of this world when our brothers and sisters go without the most basic of necessities? Why is it so hard to let go, to live fully for Christ? I yearn for the day when it is not so hard for me. When living for Christ comes as naturally as breathing. So this challenge? If you are like me and struggle with the laying down of self, this might be a good place to start. Because if Easter is all about Christ, about his sacrifice and ultimately his resurrection, can't I sacrifice even something small of myself? I think I can. I know I can. And I can't wait to share this challenge with my children tomorrow morning. Our family will be joining in.

And always remember.

The point of everything is to point to God in all things.

Even in the small things, like the (not) buying of a new dress, no matter how beautiful the color of that dress might be. Because the laying down of self for a brother or sister is more beautiful than any mint green or coral dress ever could be.

When you are radically grateful for being blessed — you are radically generous to the oppressed. - Ann Voskamp

Speaking Up

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It started in junior high. There were cruel classmates, a brother that left home too soon, grieved parents, and a young girl who thought it was her responsibility to hold everyone in her life together. A young girl who believed that if she could only be perfect, then everything else wouldn't fall apart.

That young girl was me.

And then there was that Lifetime movie. The one with Tracey Gold. For the Love of Nancy, I believe it was called. Did you see it? I watched as the girl on the screen lost more and more weight, and instead of seeing the pain, and the hurt, and the body destroyed, I saw only answers. If only I could be thin, then classmates would not be cruel. If only I could be thin, perhaps my brother would find me fun and come home. If only I could be thin, maybe my mom would not be so sad. And most importantly, if only I could be thin, perhaps everyone would be okay again. Including me. So I began to practice.

I practiced learning how to have an eating disorder.

Before I had reached thirteen years of age, I taught myself how to count calories, and how to measure portion sizes, and I did not allow myself to go over five grams of fat per meal. And then came the vomiting. Truthfully, that took lots of practice. It was not as easy as it appeared in the films. But I kept practicing until it became easy. And over my remaining years at home I practiced these learned behaviors and my life took on a pattern. When life was good, I ate and allowed the food to remain in my body. When life became overwhelming, I took control of the only thing I knew for certain that I could control. My body.

And then came college, and new amounts of stress, and more people and feelings that I could not control. And without parents around to notice, my eating behaviors began to completely consume me. Food consumed me, where I was going to eat, and what I was going to have. The scale consumed me, sometimes weighing myself every hour on the hour. And the extra weight went away and clumps of my hair went away. And my heart continuously raced and I was sure I was dying. And I was, if only on the inside.

I knew that I needed help, but I did not know where to find it. So I began to pray and God faithfully answered. At a retreat during my sophomore year of college, a girl stood up and bravely shared her story. She talked of the place where she had finally found healing, and I knew that I wanted to go there. I knew that I needed to go there. Because my only dreams in life were marriage and children, and if I could not learn to love me, then how could I ever love somebody else? And if I wasn't living whole, was I really even living? So I asked my parents if I could go to this place of healing that she spoke of, and seven days later I landed in Arizona. And Remuda Ranch became the place where I got a second chance.

Treatment was hard. The entire first week I cried. I cried because they made me finish my plate at every meal, and I cried because they would not tell me what I was weighing each day. I cried because I did not want to face the feelings that were behind the food, and I cried because I felt as though I had failed. The only thing I had ever wanted was to hold everyone together, but in striving for that I had torn myself apart.

But even in the darkness, God was there.

As I sat and daily read his Word, and began digging deep with my counselor, and learned how to just be, I felt him there. And I knew that this was my chance for healing. My second chance at living the life I desired to live and becoming the person I desired to become. I found healing in the friends I made at the Ranch, friends who finally understood the real me and liked me anyway. I found healing in writing out the words I could never seem to say. I found healing in learning to let go of the grip of the scale. Remuda Ranch taught me that I was more than a number, and that I did not have to be perfect to be valuable. I learned there, that while often painful, life could still be enjoyed, and that the only feelings I was responsible for were my own. And in the healing I finally found the freedom I had been looking for. Freedom to let go of the past and to move forward towards my future.

I found the freedom to be me.

A decade has passed now. I am a wife and a mama just as I always dreamed of being. Life is not perfect, but it is good. And I can honestly say that I have not restricted or purged in ten whole years. But some of the scars still remain. I still let food consume my mind if I am not careful to take captive every thought. I still struggle to be in the kitchen. I still struggle with the thought of dieting, knowing full well that there is a quick way out of the extra weight I now carry. But my biggest struggle of all is knowing how to raise my own two daughters to love themselves for who they are.

I learned many lessons in treatment that I will carry with me for a lifetime. I learned that nobody is perfect, even if they appear that way on the outside. I learned that eating disorders don't discriminate. I was in treatment with women of every shape, size, age, and background. I learned that keeping silent is the very worst thing that you can do. Whether it is silent about your own struggle and story, or silent as you watch someone you love suffer.

Several months ago I was asked to share my story with a young girl who was suffering in the hospital with Anorexia. Her mother had hoped that if she could talk to someone who had overcome, if she could see that there is beautiful life on the other side of addiction, that perhaps that would help her daughter to heal. And I really wanted to go, to sit with that girl and hold her hand. To tell her that I understood. But I didn't. I was too afraid. I was afraid that girl would look at me, would look at the shape I am now, and think if recovery brought on extra pounds then she would want none of that! I let my old fears of not being good enough return. I told myself that I needed to be perfect before I could share my story with others. So I kept silent, and I have often regretted that.

This week is National Eating Disorders Week, so I decided to speak up. I decided to share my story. It's not a perfect story with a perfect ending, but it's the story I have. The slogan for National Eating Disorders week is EVERYBODY KNOWS SOMEBODY. So in case that is true, or in case that is you, please know there is hope. Healing can be found. And with that healing comes freedom. Freedom to be the very real, beautiful you that you were meant to be.

(source)

Making Muffins




(Image found HERE)

A decade ago, food consumed me. It didn't consume the insides of me, I would never have allowed something like that back then, but it consumed my mind, and it consumed my heart, and it consumed my days. Eventually, intervention was needed, and my parents gave me the gift of sending me away to Arizona to find help. But I found more than help in Arizona. I also found healing. And now, a decade later, I can honestly say that food no longer consumes all of me. So many other things now consume my heart and my days.... my husband, my children, my love for God, friendships, homeschooling, adventures. But my mind? Food sometimes still has a hold there. Probably more of a hold than I would care to admit. And I know it really is not about the food (trust me... I know), but since I don't care to delve into my feelings further at this time, we will go with it being about the food.

Ironically, I no longer have a problem consuming food. Want to eat out? Perfect! But kitchens? And preparing food? Well, some problems remain. And unfortunately, this has greatly challenged my role as mother. Because Boss and the children need to eat! And there is something so beautiful about the family table. About loved ones gathering around and sharing a meal together. And it's just not the same if that meal is take out. So, in my recent efforts to master all things 'mother' (I have been finding inspiration in the form of my beautiful friend), I have been tentatively working my way back in to my kitchen. I want my children to remember Mama baking goodies, and chopping fruits and veggies, and even better, I want them to be in there doing it with me. We have not had enough kitchen togetherness in this family. And it's a shame, because we have a really cute kitchen!

 

And so, my efforts began. I started with a couple of hot breakfasts last week. Kate and I made those delicious muffins pictured above on Wednesday. Add some fresh blueberries and a glass of orange juice and I had three happy children! I also tried a couple of new recipes for supper (one found HERE), and Boss was a happy husband, too. And while I won't deny that it was not a struggle for me, I can absolutely say that this journey into the kitchen will be worth it. My children thanked me for the meals we ate this week more times than I could count! And so I gave myself a pat on the back and considered it a job well done. Or a start well done. Because I still have a long way to go. But every journey must start somewhere, and my kitchen journey started with a batch of warm muffins. And I know it really is not about the muffins. It's about the time spent together, and the memories, and the atmosphere, and the love of home. It's about consuming the beautiful things of life, hungering after all that is good, and letting go of the rest. One meal, one day at a time.

 

 

 

 

God Provides

(Image found HERE)

 

Our land on Fieldcrest Lane has many trees. Many big, old, beautiful trees. Trees whose branches often need trimming. And tree trimming is expensive. Five hundred dollars, expensive. I am not ashamed to admit that Boss and I live paycheck to paycheck. It is the season we are in. Or perhaps it is the season we will remain in. Most days I am content. Some days I panic. Like on days when the trees need a good trimming. When they are towering so close to the house and the power lines that something must be done. So we hire the workers, and we agree to pay the money, and then in my humanness, I fret about the cost. Because Emma needs new tennis shoes, and Kate wants to play spring soccer, and Jack has been eating like there is no tomorrow. And then there is that new baby who is coming soon. And so I panic about how we will pay for it all. Where will the money come from? Which child will we say no to? The baby must be born, and Jack must eat, so that leaves the saying no to the soccer or the shoes. And sometimes I feel like our old tree swing out back, blowing in the wind. Barely hanging on through the every day storms of life, afraid my rope will snap at any moment. But Boss? He doesn't panic. He prays. And the men come, and they trim the trees, and we pay them the agreed upon five hundred dollars. And you know what happens right after they leave? Right after they have pulled their red logging truck from our drive? Boss checks the mail. And there in the mail is a check for five hundred dollars. Exactly. Addressed to us. A refund we did not know was coming. And I am reminded once again, that in all things, God provides.

 

And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:19)