In the Hallway.

Last week I visited a clinic to update my vaccines before returning to Africa.  Because I was in a hurry and forgot to look at a map, I parked in the main parking lot at a huge medical complex, knowing I could be directed on where to go once I was inside.  We ended up needing to cross through some hallways and take a couple of elevators, but within a few minutes, we were there.

The main lobby of the hospital is large and impressive, but the hallways we took were really more for staff.  There was a stark contrast as we entered a completely utilitarian, narrow maze.  After the first turn, Hudson yelled out, "Look Mom!  It's like an ocean!"  It was a large, framed print on the wall, a somewhat commonplace scene of flowers, something you'd find in a budget hotel.  But Hudson was impressed.

As we walked the kids commented on several more framed prints, placed throughout this otherwise bland stretch of walkway and florescent light.  More flowers, some boats, more and more flowers.  These paintings were not something special per se, but in their own simple way, they filled a purpose.  I smiled at the thought that someone must have petitioned for them to be there, someone must have thought that hallway needed some kind of beauty.  And it made my kids really happy.

I grew up very lonely, with a father who was always there and never present, a mother who was very, very unhappy.  They were both quite retired from the idea of parenting by the time I arrived, and I didn't have siblings at home to keep me company.  We lived in the country away from all my friends, and I was very, very alone, and left alone nearly all the time.  I learned to be resourceful.  I loved to read and read voraciously from an early age.  I was never really alone with weekly library visits and 1,000 worlds and people to know.  Books, quite honestly, were my salvation.  They fed and nourished my mind and my imagination.  I am so very, very grateful that such a gift- libraries filled with books- was available to me.

This is one of the reasons I am so thrilled to invest in the work of Poetice.  People think the idea of an arts camp for Zambian orphans sounds nice, a way to do some good and make a little difference.  I know that providing arts education for orphans, a program fueled by truth and community and hope is salvation in every sense of the word, a healing and a filling of the soul richer than we could ever estimate.

When a child grows up in extreme poverty, coupled with the loss of one or both of their parents, life is very limited and they are left extremely vulnerable.  When Poetice provides a safe community in which to belong, provides truth and education and an introduction into the creative arts these children are given not a hobby but a revelation.  They are taught that they are valuable and talented.  They are invited into something beautiful, and discover they have beauty to offer the world.  It also, quite frankly, gives them something to do, something to press into, something to work at, something to achieve.

This all sounds very expressive and flowery, but I promise you, it is true.  I had a hard childhood, but happened to be born in a place where I had access to free education, free books, opportunities.  I am wholeheartedly invested in offering opportunities to children who otherwise receive very few chances to dream. 

Creativity is a light that can break through cracks in the darkest of places.  Art is a peaceful protest against the things that press to dull our senses and break us down.  The discipline of making art teaches children to see, to expect.  It equips them to recognize and bring out beauty even in bleak places, especially in bleak places. 

Investing in these children, in their souls, their minds, their creativity, instills dignity and affirms purpose.  This ministry sends the message that we are more than a mouth that needs food, and that there are foods more and greater than that which feeds the body alone.

Participating in the arts is a holy act of kinship with our Creator, and we should never, ever underestimate its power to heal, to invite, to inspire and direct, and to promote real change.

Growing.

I've had some conversations this week that are suspended in my mind, held together by a single thread.  

Mostly, I listened. Sometimes I responded.  These were those conversations in which there is so much to say, but you don't know how to say it; if you should say it.  Or maybe you need to let it go, let them grow. Sometimes you do need to just leave it all hanging there, unanswered.  Sometimes that is how we arrive at the point.

The point of this- the point I learned the hard way and remind myself of often- is this:

The brighter the faults of others, the darker my own heart.

In the end, that's what I hope you see- and please keep reminding me the same.



Gifted.

Every one of our children is unique and uniquely gifted.  One of the greatest joys of being a parent is to watch these four individuals grow and mature into such incredible people; to watch our family of six rub off on each other. 

One of our children has been singled out as "gifted."  As in, the kind you can measure with percentages and graphs; the kind that gains you acceptance into special schools, if that is what you would like. 

As I went over test scores with our school's gifted teacher today, he used terms like "99.9th percentile", and "exceptional." We knew she was special, but now we are at a crossroads, deciding what to do about it- while not making a big deal out of it.  She is, after all, a very sweet little girl who is so many more things than just this.

I stopped him and asked him if he could explain to me "how" she is able to do some of the things she does- because until this year, I was her only teacher.  I watched her work effortlessly, knowing that this wasn't something I could owe to my expert teaching style, or how hard we worked.  I like to think I've been a useful guide and advocate, but in many ways, I liken my influence to something like this:  I handed her a pile of 2x4s and a tool kit.  She made a swing set.  On her own.  Without instructions.  This is how it's been thus far.  She just can.

His answer to my question?  She is just gifted.  We can't know why or how this happens or make it happen for another child; it's just a gift.  Other children can work and learn and grow, but they can't attain this level of intuitive ability. 

What do I take away?  This is something we do not earn.

I know God encourages the questions, but, asking him why this child thrives and another struggles; there isn't an answer for that.  Not one that makes it easier.

And I'm left with all this, feeling a greater weight to burden.  What should we do?  How do we know we're doing enough?  Too much?  So far, this child has accepted this news with incredible grace, because that is her way.  She isn't burdened.  She's delighted- especially now that she has extra work to do and unlimited library access.  She is delighted in her gift, she does not mention it in front of others in case it makes them feel excluded, and today she essentially told me she just wants to use her gifts to love life and to make the world a better place.  And then we went back to our popcorn.  I think she'll be fine.

We are each gifted.  It's not of our own effort, and we don't get to choose those things that we are uniquely equipped to do.  The gifts don't always make life easier- in fact, they can make it quite a bit more work.  But we can accept, embrace, and steward our gifts well. 

We can also stay humble, recognize our limitations, and gracefully set to working on those things that do not come so easily for us.

And that is my prayer for this child, for myself, for each of us.  Don't ask too many questions, don't settle for less than excellence, don't take yourself too seriously- and just say thank you.

God's Heart.



I'm taking a class right now focused on race and ethnic relations.  Essentially, I read, research, dialogue, and write about multiculturalism, poverty, and racial issues, and also racial and ethnic tensions, progress, and possibilities for the future- with a very diverse group of classmates.  Well, we're all white South Dakotans.  Our opinions and worldviews- those are diverse.

I have to discuss these things intelligently, but separate myself from directly referencing God's heart for justice.  Obviously, the Bible is very practical and straightforward about these things, and I can apply that to the discussion, but the viewpoint of this class is secular of course.

Honestly, it can be very hopeless, and draining, if I'm not intentional about reinforcing my heart and mind with truth- it's easy to get mired in the general milieu of the group.  I needed to inoculate myself actively.

Last week I started an on-going project.  I'm filling a book with every reference I can find directly dealing with God's heart for the poor, the orphan, the widow, the alien- his heart to defend and work peace and justice.

  Sometimes I write a passage out in a couple of different versions, sometimes it's just a reference to a place in the Bible where God or man works justly, whether it's directly referenced or not.  Obviously, I can't be comprehensive- there's just too much to get it all.  But I did buy a big book.

Crash.

This afternoon, as Hudson and I drove out of our neighborhood to pick up the girls from school, I watched a small plane fly away from the airport, take a weird swoop, and dip suddenly.  It startled me, but I thought the pilot was pulling a stunt.  But instead, I watched it barrel to the earth, bursting into flames in the middle of a field.  It was absolutely horrible.  I instantly called 911, knowing the airport had to have seen it, but this is just what you do in an emergency. 

As I approached the wreck, black smoke and bright fire were billowing out of the place the plane should be, but all I could see were two wings, sticking up oddly from the pile.  I was kind of in the middle of nowhere, all alone on the road.  I felt helpless, in shock, and Hudson saw it all.  Of course the fire department and ambulances would be on their way by now, and there was nothing I could do but turn around, and drive to the school.  I called Jim to settle me down, it was just such a huge shock.

I was so upset for these people, who couldn't possibly have survived it, and for their families.  And of course they've been on my heart all night tonight.

I made a decision right in the car that I wasn't going to tell the girls about it- Grace especially has a big fear of flying, thanks to her God-given frantic imagination with a bent toward the terrible (which, of course, I have as well).  When I went to Zambia last year, she was in constant concern for my safety.  And plane crashes are rare, and you just need to go for it even if you're afraid.  I'm always reassuring her these things.  I, myself, hold my breath until I'm in the air- I've heard it's the take-off and landings you need to worry about, much more than the time you're suspended.  Once I'm in the air, I still hate it, but can exhale.

On the subject of constant vivid-imagination worrying, one of my personal favorite fears is of a plane crashing into our house.  And in this case, if the plane had travelled just maybe 30 seconds further before attempting to turn back to the runway, it could have easily nose-dived into our neighborhood.  And so, my irrational fear has fuel for future fruitless worry.

I didn't want the girls to hear about it.  Hudson hadn't said anything about it while we waited for the girls, so I thought maybe it didn't all register for him (thankfully). 

Of course the first thing Hudson said when they piled into the van was, "WE SAW A PLANE CRASH.  THERE WAS A BIG FIRE!!!" 

The girls looked to me for confirmation.

Confirmation given, without missing a beat Grace said, "Well, I'm really glad that didn't happen to your plane in Africa."

She is my girl.

All this to say, I know there are families grieving tonight, and my heart is hurting for them.  It was an intense thing to experience as a bystander, but I know this is a horrible day for these families.

No Thanks.

A few weeks ago a couple of our kids were given Operation Christmas Child boxes at church.  On our way out, the other two were offered boxes too- and I politely declined, I think I said something about having other commitments for extra giving this holiday season (true). 

But I also have reservations about the program- caveat for the instant-reactors- it's not all bad.  But I feel like there are too many aspects to this giving concept that this family wants to take a thoughtful step back from- and I think churches and businesses sign up for this all-too-quickly because it fills our desire to give a small offering to the guilt-gods around this time of year.  It's a non-sacrifice for most families who participate- giving them a momentary feeling of satisfaction because they gave to those sweet children in the pictures.... While turning around to give extravagantly to their own family.

I just don't want to do this one.  Which people don't always understand. Declining something like this can be communicated as selfishness- as if I don't want to give to others, or don't support the spreading of the Gospel in this way (which, well, maybe I don't...I don't know).  Anyway- we don't do it.  It's complicated.

And this Sojourner's article encapsulates many of my reservations about it.

People Watching People

A couple of weeks ago I was sitting at Starbucks in Barnes and Noble, waiting for a friend.  I glanced down and noticed this spot, where a student obviously was studying, preparing for finals- laptop and energy drink in tow.  He wasn't there at the time, and I snapped this shot quick with my pocket camera. Under the table.  Like a private investigator.

Wow.  Hitchens, The Atheist's Bible, and a giant pile of Microbiology notes.

Do you ever people watch?  Wonder about their lives?  I wonder if he really ascribes to a Hitchens-like world view, or if he's considering it.  I wonder if he's just curious and wants to be well-informed, or if his Microbiology professor is persistently quoting Hitchens and the like to the point that he wanted to read it for himself. I know I had a few profs much the same. 
You people watch too, right? 

Well I'm just people watching the other people watching me; We're all people watching the other people watching we...  Jack Johnson, People Watching

Holy.

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly. Matthew 11:28-30, The Message

Sitting this week on death and resurrection and where I see it's work in my own life, and in the lives of my friends. 

Honestly, I sat down to write more, but, I'm just leaving it here.  It's a beautiful thing.  This is a Holy Week indeed.

mayflowersmayflowersmayflowersmayflowers

It's running through my head, over
and over
and over.

Our crummy, 40 degree, rain-snow-mix weather that will not quit is doing something good.  It is.  It is. 
The sun, and green grass, slushes on the porch, fires in the backyard, and long evenings of warm daylight are coming.  The trees will have leaves, the flowers will show up and show off.

All the gloom has a purpose for the Earth- and my attitude.  I'm already grateful in advance for summer.

Liberated.

I know several people who are married, but, for one reason or another, don't want kids right now.  Or people who are not anywhere near getting married, and can't imagine ever being a parent.  Fair enough.  I have no idea what they should do.

But I was thinking about this the other day. 

Some want a specific number of years alone together before they jump in. Some don't want children at all.

Some talk as if children are essentially a "necessary evil" that they will eventually give in to- but hopefully, not until the distant future, because they just can't imagine life with kids right now.  All the things that would have to change.  People articulate these ideas in carefully crafted euphemism- typically, we aren't so blunt. 

I've seen friends say these things, then have children, and wonder what in the world they were so afraid of.  Now they're absolutely in love with the children they feared so long would steal their independence and ruin opportunities for ministry with their time-consuming needs.

I've seen other friends have children for the wrong reasons, to complete the "set" of their family without putting much forethought into it, or having them because from far away, they seem sweet and like they'll make you feel love and loved and needed- only to get a few years into the absolute disillusionment that is real life parenting and wonder what went wrong.  Many people fail to actually count the cost of parenting before they have children.  But isn't it almost impossible to fully count that cost beforehand?

It's not so simple as to say everyone should have children-  let's not say it's that black and white.  Otherwise, a whole lot of people would be out of the will of God because, for one reason or another, they were not faithful to multiply, as we so often hear we should do, in it's various interpretations.

But the other day, as my kids made cakes and bears and stars and rockets in the afternoon sun, I thought about these things in relation to us- to our family.

Having these four children has been immeasurably significant to our lives.  So Grace, Patience, Lily, and Hudson, I'm writing this to you, not anyone else-



Loving you saved me from my self more than almost anything I've experienced.  It has been a messy road.  You have been gracious with me.  You are not an inconvenience- you're the best thing that possibly could have happened to your dad and I immediately after getting married.  You have forced us to tear away the ridiculous things we could have gotten caught up in, and to live centered on things that really matter.  God makes me more like Him when I daily live with you, and serve you when it's easy and when I'm at the end of myself.



Getting to the end of myself is exactly what God had in mind when he made me your mother, and I'm incredibly grateful for it.



And what's more- you are incredible.  You are amazing.  You are hilarious, and you keep me alert.  Awake.
You are a mirror into my own depravity and a window into exactly who I want to be when I grow up.



You are not ever a mistake.  Never a waste of time.  Never a barrier to effective ministry.  You make me more into the woman I was created to be.  Losing my self as your mother has been a bright, warm invitation into finding myself.  Loving you liberated me.

I can't imagine much that could take me closer to the heart of God than being your mother.

The Far and the Near

Thomas Wolfe wrote a poignant short story in 1935 titled, "The Far and the Near".  I read it once, 12 or 13 years ago, and it is still with me.  Here is a plot summary, found at this site, where you can read all about it,

"Wolfe's 'The Far and the Near' starts out with a description of a little town, which contains a small cottage on its outskirts. The cottage appears clean and comfortable. Every day, just after two o'clock in the afternoon, an express train passes by the house. For more than twenty years, the train engineer blows his whistle, prompting a woman inside the house to come out on her porch and wave to him. Over this time, the woman's little girl grows up, and she joins her mother in waving to the engineer. The engineer grows old during this time and sees a lot of tragedy during his service for the railroad, including four fatal accidents on the tracks in front of him. Throughout all of this tragedy, however, he remains focused on the vision of the cottage and the two women, an image that he thinks is beautiful and unchangeable. He has a father's love towards the two women and, after so many thousands of trips past their cottage, feels that he knows the women's lives completely.

As a result, he resolves to visit the women on the day he retires, to tell them what a profound effect they have had on his life. When that day comes, he walks from the train station into the small town. As he walks through the town, he is unsure of his decision, because the town seems so unfamiliar—much different from how it has looked from his train cab. When he gets to the women's cottage, he is even more unsure, but he decides to go through with it. When he meets the woman, she is instantly suspicious of him, and the train engineer is sorry that he has come. The woman whom he has idealized all of those years appears different, and her harsh voice is not what he expected. He explains who he is and why he has come, and the woman reluctantly invites him inside and calls for her daughter. The engineer sits down with both women in an ugly parlor and awkwardly talks to them while they fix him with hostile looks. Finally, the engineer leaves, and he is shaken from his experience. He is distraught because the one aspect of his life that he thought was pure and beautiful is stained. With this revelation, he realizes that he has lost all hope and that he will never be able to see the good in life again."

Uplifting, right?

To me, it seems almost prophetic.  Certainly it has always been relevant to the human condition, but it has an entirely new application in the dawning age of the Internet, and, more specifically, the blog.

The implications of our Facebook/Twitter/Google Reader/Blogger/Internet culture at our fingertips 24/7 are many- I don't need to discuss that here.  But honestly- Seinfeld would have had a field day with the amount of material this technological revolution has to offer.


I was thinking today about the good friends I've made online.  I've talked to several this week.  I admit- I don't read that many personal blogs- mostly I use Google Reader to keep up with authors, decorators, and National Geographic.  But over the years I've made some incredible friends via this blog.  Just a few very good ones- and I've "met" probably hundreds of other wonderful people.  All a bit of a happy accident, because I started talking to "no one" about my everyday life, on the Internet, to keep memories for my family, for me.  It turns out, lots of other people do the same thing.

It sounds crazy- a close friendship- a real relationship- with someone you have never met in person?  If you don't get it, it's OK.  But if you get it- you get me.  It can happen.  And typically a lot faster than it can take to make a friend like that the old fashioned way- you know, in person.  Because you cut through the pleasantries online.  It's nice.  Well, I think it's nice.  I hate small talk.  Of course, there are 100 reasons why it can go South.  People make quick, reaction-based decisions online.  We can toss people out too soon.  I don't think I like you?  Click- you're out of my life.  And, we are masters of what people see of us online- if we aren't careful to be transparent and honest, we can edit our online lives to our liking- and it can really mislead people.

That's why the Internet takes me back to Wolfe's short story.  That's why I don't have that many good online friends.  But some people- you just click.  And you really enjoy the friendship, you really encourage and inspire one another- you really hold one another up in the funny or the awful things that happen in your lives.  Every bit as valuable as your close friends in your own city- and you never could have met without the Internet.  It can be miraculous.

It happened to Julia Child and Avis DeVoto, it has happened to me.  It happens.

I've had the chance to meet a few people in person that I'd known and met online, and it's always been fantastic.  We've always ended up closer because of it.  Whew. So, I'm a big believer in the blessing of authentic, online friendships- because they are just that- friendships.

So- as long as you're intentional about being open, real, and honest about your life in your online relationships and in the relationships you have with the people around you, and as long as you are cultivating rich relationships in "real life", in addition to meeting some wonderful people across the country, then no worries.  I bet you'd absolutely love those online friends in real life.  You're just enjoying a new way of forming authentic human connection.

More Aging.

Grace is getting really old.  Patie is doing lots of "old" things just like Grace is, but, she still has a rounded baby sweetness about her.  Grace, however, just a year and a half ahead, is just looking very, very old- all tall and proper- and she tries so hard to be mature, too.  She reminds me so much of Meg in Little Women-  and so it's fitting that Meg's pet name, and Grace's middle name (Daisy), are the same.

A few weeks ago our coffee maker started acting wonky, not staying on to brew, etc., so we had to replace it.  It was great, and it brewed pre-dawn coffee for us faithfully for 4 years.  The time has flown by.  It seems like only yesterday I was pulling that beautiful Cuisinart machine out of it's box.

We replaced it with this one- and I have to say- having the thermal carafe turns out to be a really, really good thing.  I was always doubtful as to it's necessity, but now that we've seen the light, we'll never turn back.

We left Target, and as we drove away I told Grace that if this coffee maker lasts as long as our old one, she'll be almost twelve before we replace it. 

This amazed her.  And me.

Fiction.

Jim has set a pretty specific routine with our kids at night over the years.  Bedtime has not ever really been my territory.  After everyone's made every preparation for bed, there's Bible reading and discussing, praying, singing, silly song singing, and then there's time for a chapter or two of some good fiction.  They've read books like Anne of Green Gables, or Uncle Tom's Cabin (Jim retold that one, I think)- honestly I don't know much of what they've read together, I'm so far removed from it.  But now they're somewhere in the middle of Narnia.

When I was young, I absolutely devoured fiction books.  I was always reading something.  As I grew up, particularly once I got to college, I completely lost my habit of fiction, apart from the scores of books I was required to read (this is of course what happens when literature becomes your major course of study), and when I did read of my own free will, it was non fiction.  Biographies, and thinking books.  These are valuable too, but even then, I sort of mourned my loss of love for the novel.

Now here I am, a full-out adult, a mother who still remembers being a child- mostly because my children keep reminding me- and the circle has come around.  I find myself absolutely in love with fiction once again, and I make it a practice to fit it in between all the other kinds of things I read.  Between what I read to my children, and what I read for myself, fiction is absolutely back in my life, and I doubt it will ever leave.

Perhaps it's because, as I grow older, I see the necessity of it.

Holy Anger.

A Franciscan blessing, originally posted 10.27.10
................................

May God bless you with a restless discomfort about easy answers, half-truths and superficial relationships, so that you may seek truth boldly and love deep within your heart.

May God bless you with holy anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may tirelessly work for justice, freedom, and peace among all people.

May God bless you with the gift of tears to shed with those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, or the loss of all that they cherish, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and transform their pain into joy.

May God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you really can make a difference in this world, so that you are able, with God's grace, to do what others claim cannot be done.

And the blessing of God the Supreme Majesty and our Creator,
Jesus Christ the Incarnate Word who is our brother and Saviour,
and the Holy Spirit, our Advocate and Guide,
be with you and remain with you, this day and forevermore.

AMEN

Growing.

"Change is one difference between life and death." -Francis Schaeffer, Art and the Bible, p. 73

We are all creators. Whether we are painters, sculptors, photographers, writers, readers, parents, students, scientists, spouses, chefs, pastors, friends, accountants, or architects, we are all creating and building throughout our lives. 

Even when we invest no intentionality into living at all, we are still fashioning a life's work.  Some will, at the end, be much more intricate and beautiful than others.

We are made in the image of God, and like Him, we are creators. 

When I think of the things I create in my life- photographs, meals, a home, our marriage, our parenting, my mind, and on, I find I'm almost daily cringing at something I used to think was excellent- something that was, at the time, my best- but is now either funny, or just difficult to look back on. 

But it is good to know we are moving forward as individuals, as a family, as creators.  We aren't backtracking, we aren't standing still.  We are constantly evolving, growing, expanding, and gaining resolve.  We stand on solid foundations, and enjoy incredible freedom to flex and become something greater, something more beautiful every day- usually by doing hard work, by accepting help, by failing, admitting, and moving on, by pouring ourselves out to people and work that matters.

It's sometimes very difficult to look back- but I'm so glad to be alive.

1000 Everydays.

This is the 1000th post at Life Every Day.

I have seen it approaching.  It intimidated me.  I think it should be significant.  But staring the should-be-significant 1000th post in the face here in the drafting window leaves me... with few words.  I'll try to cough some out anyway.

When I began this blog in 2006, I was in The Baby Season.  I was young, figuring out how to be a wife and a mother and a woman and all the other things I should be in the world, while smack in the middle of birthing four babies in four years, and, despite caffeinated beverages and daily naps, I was constantly a little exhausted no matter what.

And I started writing whatever.  Whenever I wanted to.  Talk about a perfect example of traveling from the ridiculous to the sublime.

But I've loved it.  And it's kept me sane, and given me connections and friendships I never could have made otherwise- and my life is far richer for it.

And now I see that in the last year, the season has turned.  I don't yet know what to call it- I suppose it's better to wait for the hindsight that will come down the road to provide the namesake- but it has been a beautiful transition.

My loves for Jesus, Jim, my children, and my passion for life have become clearer, richer, grander and deeper.

Our children are growing in every way and I'm humbled to have a part in it- and greatly humbled to stand back and watch them fly a little farther every day. 

I absolutely love giving my life and my time and my energy at home with Grace, Patience, Lily, and Hudson.  I will never, ever regret it.

This is our last year of homeschooling and I can't get over how grateful I am for that season.  It was imaginative, full, fun, and fruitful.  My children, and I, have loved it.  But the season will end this year.  And we are all ready, peaceful, and excited for this next chapter to begin.  I can't get the words right, but to say- I am so grateful to have had such a beautiful, creative, and rich experience learning at home- that we can leave the season with good memories, and happily embrace all the change that will come with three girls away at school next year.  I'm so excited to see them growing so gracefully into this next milestone- and I know they will love it- it's a bittersweet end to one phase of life that I've savored- and it's a hopeful beginning of something new.

Our season of having babies is long gone, our children are growing up, we're a little more free, and life seems to be bringing about change and new, bigger vision this year.

Jim loves his job.  I can't get over how significant that is- that we both absolutely love what we do.

And I will spend this year teaching as many people as possible how to get creative control over their cameras- meaning they'll be inspired to photograph more of their lives- documenting the people, places, and events that make them rich.  I don't take it lightly that I'm a small part of something that significant. 

We have a warm home to call our own, and it's full of good food and people we love.  I get to wear "big" earrings whenever I want, and no babies ever pull them out.  I easily get a shower every single day.  That's a great thing.  And each passing year, we become more certain that a safe, comfortable, "happy" life is not going to satisfy us.

We are a part of an incredible church, and it, too, is growing.  I get so excited thinking about all the ways this city will be impacted by The Ransom as the years pass.

And now, suddenly, a part of my heart is in Africa.  And I have no idea what the future holds, but God, I'll do it.

I'm writing all the time.  I'm taking arts courses online, because I love it.  I listen to good music that stirs me up.  I've stopped photographing in any way that feels forced, and have embraced doing the work I love with my camera- and I've left the rest behind.  I read several books a month, and drink hot tea every day.  I have time to have long, completed thoughts, sometimes.  My husband still likes me.  And I like him.  My kids think I'm kinda cool.  Most of the time.  I have some good friends that are authentic, and true.  

Almost daily I fail, and get humbled, and have opportunities to say I'm sorry.  I feel very, very needy.  I feel wrecked and sure that I can't do anything good on my own.  Every year that passes I realize things I thought were right were wrong.  And every day I talk to Jesus through it all.  He's right there even in the most mundane, ordinary moments of my day.  And I know that I know it.  And I'm all wrapped up in it.

My every day life is good.  And God is keeping us a little restless, a little reckless- and dare I say I hope He keeps it up. 

I am grateful.

Leaving

The Word became flesh and blood,
and moved into the neighborhood.
We saw the glory with our own eyes,
the one-of-a-kind glory,
like Father, like Son,
Generous inside and out,
true from start to finish.
        John 1:14 MSG
 
At the moment of conception, Jesus Christ left the ultimate perfection of the Trinity, divine and uncontainable, to be contained- fully God, fully man in human form.  He left brilliant glory to be hungry, to be dirty, to be sick, to be lonely, to navigate every single experience common to humanity, and ultimately to lay himself down for us.
 
And so this Christmas, as I leave behind what is familiar for something completely new, and I leave the ones I love fiercely, I have that truth deep in my heart.  I'll leave on a jet plane and travel 10,000 miles away from here- and anything that is difficult about leaving my family is made softer when I experience it in light of all Christ did to come to us.

The Wonder of the Worth Less

I'm amazed every year at Christmas- any holiday, but especially Christmas- at the swift changes in perception of worth.

We recklessly consume finding gifts, decorations, food, what have you.  And we spend and spend and spend.

And suddenly, at the strike of midnight on Christmas night, all the sparkling, shining wonder that was worth great expense turns into piles of leftover clearance thrown on shelves at the back of the store. 

It was worth so much.  Now it's worth so much less.  What changed? 

The date changed, and somehow, with it our perceptions.  Now it's not important to us anymore, let's move on to the new thing. 

From the outside looking in, American consumerism must seem absurd.

After I wrote this, I listened to a great podcast with Robbie Seay- you can listen here.

Not Wasted.

"...How will we respond to the call, to those whose spirits are crushed by poverty, trauma, and abuse; whose intellect and imagination could lift whole families and villages out of poverty but for the lack of an education; whose bodies are wounded or killed by hunger, disease, and violence?  Prophets throughout Scripture challenge us to raise these questions and to address them with all the resources we have- with our money and our goods, certainly, but also with our intellects, our voices, and our power...How many of us are missing the wave of God's justice?"
                                                                                      - Sarah Dylan Breuer

Our God is a God of justice, beauty, restoration, wholeness.  I want to live and walk with God, with Jim, with our children, making daily choices to see the Kingdom come on Earth- to boldly make choices quite small and sometimes impossibly large to work toward these very things, in strength that never comes from us.  I want to live with clarity and intention, to accept the call to daily live with purpose in the very place we are right now, for such a time as this.  And when I fail in that task, I want to live fully in the grace that allows me to pick up and keep walking, setting me back on course. 

I want my children to see us living awake and alive first, and for them to catch a passion to never, ever throw a day away.

Six and One

"We've all experienced the low-grade despair that comes when our days blend into each other- wake up, eat breakfast, brush teeth, go to school or work or the office, change another diaper, do another load of laundry, write a check, fill a tank, cook a meal and then repeat it all over again the next day.  One day looks like the next, everything starts to feel the same, life starts to feel like the existential equivalent of refrigerator buzz...

...Six days you shall work, but on the seventh, don't.  Why is this so monumental? God gives them rhythm.  But not the rhythm of sound, the rhythm of time.  Life before was an interminable succession of sevens.  Seven, seven, seven.  But now, their time is broken up, measured, arranged with a beat: six and one, six and one, six and one.

God is the God of the groove.

We need rhythm in our time- it's what makes one moment different from another.  It gives shape and color and form to all of life.

- Rob Bell in the article Why We Wait, found here.

I press hard to get rhythm in my own life, and for our children, in the day-to-day.  We really do have it.  Pockets of rest or solitude, pockets for reading, pockets for focused attention, pockets for mundane tasks, pockets for intense learning and pockets for TV. 

That rhythm brings life, but, even it gets a little listless if you do it too long. 

It's hard to get a true Sabbath when you have small children.  Sunday, though purposed as a day of rest, despite my best-laid plans, and even some extra time to spare (which easily fills itself if I don't fight it) and even with a little extra reading, or a little extra family time or, perhaps even some relaxing or a nap fit in- when I break it down, it still looks incredibly similar to the other six.  I've learned to welcome the Sabbath post-children, and do life slower that day- but, let's face it- I've also learned to not get my hopes up.  A lot of Sundays are going to leave me wanting.  It's about my attitude, though.  Keeping hopeful toward a Sabbath, staying intentional and available to rest- day to day, and on Sunday.  And goodness, am I grateful for a season of children in our house.


The past two months have been just crazy.  I'd say, they've been very good, but not always because things have been easy, or simple, or lovely.  But, it hasn't been all terrible either.  But, just a blur.  A blur, and, also just about grinding through the every day duties, pressing on, and when life threw us a curve ball, getting through it- and then keeping on the grind, through busy, through responsibility, through grieving.  It's a season.  And I know that.  And it hasn't been without reward.  But it has been, very much, lacking rest.

I don't see Jim.  Not really.  He leaves in the dark, he returns in the dark.  We eat dinner, I clean up the kitchen (and by the end of that, I've typically been in there for 2-3 hours between prepping, cooking, eating, and cleaning up- and lest I sound bitter, I'll mention, I enjoy it- in theory), he spends time with the kids, takes them to bed, reads and sings and prays with them.  Then Jim comes up stairs, and we sort of look at each other and say, "Hey."  We've both put ourselves out there all day, and now, at the end, our devotion to oneness usually looks like catching up on an episode on Hulu with the dogs before getting ready for bed. If there is anything I need to ask him or talk to him about, I have to write it down, or I will forget by then and regret it the next day-  And at 5 AM, the alarm sounds, and it starts over.

We love each other.  A lot.  We make it a priority to be together- but- I want to see him when I'm mentally clear and have a day's worth of energy, and nothing else to take it from me- so I can spend it all with him.  About once every two weeks or so, we have a really great, long, awesome conversation at night once the kids are in bed- but-  I'd safely call once every two weeks rare.

I'm not complaining.  We both live knowing we've got the exact jobs we're right for, that this is just exactly where we should be.  So there is a way to thrive in it.  We work towards it every day.  It's not so much about arriving at that destination, as it is about the daily journey of getting there.

There is beauty in our daily toil, and ending it exhausted together.  But Jim, I want to see you in the daylight. 

It doesn't happen often- but we do try to stay intentional about getting focused alone time away from our day to day life.  And we're doing that this weekend. 

This has been a weird week.  All kinds of distractions, weird things, discouraging things, out of nowhere things, unexpected bills, and, I've been sick since a week after I was vaccinated.  At first, I was incredibly sick, now, I'm just not getting over it.  People are asking me for things, I have 100 things to do in the next month, we're a full week behind in school after missing so much time while we were travelling for funerals in October, and I need to press on if we'll finish before Christmas and Africa and hopefully get a solid Christmas Break for fun. 

At first, it made me tempted to just drop our trip.  I'd just run up to the city and finish up my workshop, and come back.  When you're sick, you do sort of feel like just giving up.  But yesterday, I read that article above.  And I recognized how much has gone wrong this week, and how very, very needy Jim and I are for total rest.  For time.  Especially if this next season is to be fruitful.  We need to be focused, not distant.

So, I'm rejecting the things that tempt me to get discouraged, I'm doing what needs to be done, I'm going to keep pace, finish the work that has to be finished, and leave the rest to find it's own time to be completed next week.  I'm going to press on, and finish this week strong, though I feel physically weak, and we. are. going. to. arrive. at. rest.

This time away is a gift.  We're supposed to wrap our arms around it.  Jim, I'm 100% ready to do nothing with just you.