investing in the future

Have I mentioned that our church is putting up a new building?

Well, we are.  It has been a long process; our oldest child, now nearly halfway through his tenth year, was a mere two months old when we began the first capitol campaign.  But the timing has been good - it makes for much less debt.

Ten years ago the focus was on saving money to buy property.  A few years later we had a celebration wen they first broke ground.  We now have made a serious start.  You can really see a lot of what it will look like when it's finished.  We're currently raising money to put a roof over our new building.  Once that's done, we hope to have the thing done completed before too much more time goes by.

People have saved and sacrificed.  Many church members have spent countless days helping pour cement and moving dirt.   It has been a dream we're all working toward, and now we can finally start to see that dream being realized.

A few weeks ago the Sunday school kids went out to the church property.  They were able to place handprints in the cement by the children's wing, and the staff even wrote the children's initials.  It is a beautiful thing.

On Sunday night our family headed to the property for a BBQ and Tour.  The pastor (whose vision and faith have been the driving force behind all this) took groups through the facility, showing us what has already been accomplished and lending us his perspective on what it will all look like in the future.

It's going to be amazing.

But more than a nice place to gather, more than finally having the space we need for our ever-expanding children's ministry, I believe this place will be a blessing to our community.  I'm so excited to see the outreach that will happen there!  This is an exhilarating time for our church body, and we are thrilled to be a part of it all.

our family is outside the norm

As a family of unusual size, we know we're outside of the cultural norm.  We are aware.  Our family doesn't fit into the typical sedan, and we often have to wait longer for a table at a restaurant.  When we were traveling last summer, we had more than one hotel inform us that our number was too great to book a single room.

And then there are the remarks.  It's not uncommon for my husband and I to hear "You know, they've figured out what causes that!" and comments even more clever than that (!).  I fear that Jeff hears it more than I do, being out in the workforce.   In my homeschooling circle, having a large family is more common, although that certainly isn't the case at the church where we attend and serve.  Still, there's no doubt about it, we're the family that's not like the others.  And we're okay with that.

It didn't used to be this way, though.  Larger families used to be common and celebrated.  For a number of reasons, which I won't discuss today, our society has changed its view of what the "ideal" family should look like.  Is it for the best?  I don't believe it is, but that's a different post for a different day...

My husband and I have made a point of growing less sensitive to the comments.  We realize that, as an anomaly, we are more likely to draw attention, thoughtless remarks, and criticism.    There are people in our life who find our brood highly amusing.  I can't imagine why, but they seem to find it hilarious that we are raising five children.  They never miss an opportunity to make us the punchline of a joke.  Others have been more encouraging and supportive, though, and we appreciate these folks more than we can say.

It's not always easy to live outside the parameters of what our culture has decided is "normal."  We find that it's worth it, however.   And we didn't choose this life to appease culture.  Heaven forbid that ever become our goal!

Why am I writing all this?  I suppose I want to encourage you today, to examine your own attitude toward children.  Our society views them as a burden - but in truth they are a blessing!   THIS POST sums it up very well, and I highly encourage you to take a look.  

Today I'm asking you to consider how our culture views children, and then ask yourself how God views them.  Examine the Scriptures, pray.

And for goodness' sake, be kind in what you say.   I don't want my children to hear people talk about what a chore they are.  They are blessings.  They are our treasures.

trying

I've had a difficult few weeks.  Some health issues have come up...nothing life-threatening, but bothersome and uncomfortable all the same.  And a little bit complicated.  I'm sure I will share more about that in the future, when I know a little better what I'm dealing with.  For now, let's just say it's been a bit difficult.  I feel vulnerable and a little sad.  It's been hard to stay patient with those around me - not good if you're a homeschooling mama....

But something my oldest son said the other day has helped click things back into perspective.  So along those lines I'm going to count my blessings and camp on the truth.

On the brighter side, here are a few photos from our gorgeously sunny week.

a perfect day for popsicles!

taking a break while strolling around the neighborhood

He is obsessed with balls.

Really, there's a girl in there. I promise.

I am very blessed.  I am redeemed by my Lord, I am adored by my husband, and I am blessed with beautiful, amazing children.    So I'm counting my blessings one by one.  I'm trying.

this solid ground

When my family arrived at our church on Sunday morning, the power was out.  Early that morning the electricity had gone out in several neighborhoods near our gathering place.   Stoplights were out.  There were candles lit in the hallways at church, and a generator to support the sanctuary.

The world seemed darker than usual.

But there was an undeniable power in spite of all that.  Hearts reaching toward the light.  The room was full, it seemed to be fairly bursting.   Those of us who had gathered...we were hungry.  In an uncertain, unstable world, we were hungry for something to cling to.

Dear reader, would you do something?  Would you take a few minutes to listen to this song and really take in the words, every single word?  To revel in the truth?

Just take a moment and soak in it.



He is it.  He alone saves.  He is the one.

All other ground is sinking sand.

Never again.

We are in the midst of Holocaust Remembrance Week.

I've always been fascinated by the stories of World War II.  It all sounds so surreal, like something out of a nightmare.  The stories that have come out of that time are mind-blowing.  Hatred and betrayal, sacrifice and heroism.  The best and worst of the human condition.

In college I took a course called "The Literature of the Holocaust."  It was a painful, eye-opening class.  I still have many of the books from it, and plan to use them when my children study WWII sometime in the future. I'm sure it will be a difficult unit for us all, but I believe it is important.

As I thought over this observance, this Remembrance Week, I wondered what I might have to say about the Holocaust that would matter.  How could I even scratch the surface of the atrocities which occurred, the unfathomable loss to humanity?  There were such unspeakable crimes against God and mankind.  What could I say that would make any difference at all?

And then I realized this: I can remember.  That is one thing I can do.  I can honor those who suffered during that time by this one simple act:  I can remember.

“To forget the dead would be akin to killing them a second time.” ― Elie Wiesel, Night

My husband is a man.

Lately I've  noticed something.  Often we hear men referred to as...boys.   Sometimes in an affectionate manner, like her husband and son being a woman's "boys."  Often, though, it's a bit more snide than that.

"You have two sons?  I guess you're raising three boys!"
"Those guys are such boys.  Of course they're slobs, what else could you expect?"

Our culture seems to believe that adult males are stuck in a perpetual juvenile phase, doomed to make immature decisions and chose selfishness above all else.   One has only to watch a few television commercials to see evidence of this.  Guys are portrayed as just plain dumb.  There are precious few programs or films which depict fathers as deserving of respect.   They are clueless, helpless, and...well, immature.

As the mother of four males, this really bothers me.  Kids seem to rise to the expectations we've set for them.  What happens when they see others of their gender in this manner?  Not growing in character, not becoming wise and discerning, strong and gentle, but as perpetual goof-offs?

I know there are real-life males who fit that description.  But I'm thinking maybe they became that way (or never matured beyond it) because they were allowed to.  Expected to, even.

Parenting is hard.  Most of us are doing the very best we can, desperately hoping it's enough.  Praying for help, relying on God's guidance is invaluable in this.  I personally struggle to find the balance of "encouraging" my boys to do their best (which hopefully doesn't turn into criticism!), and accepting that they are kids: learning as they go along.

But I think that our attitudes toward our own husbands is connected to all this.  In fact, I believe that it is vitally important.   I want to show my boys that I believe their dad takes care of his family, leads us with wisdom, is both strong and gentle.  I want them to see that I respect him - so much!  I want them to see their father and think "I want to be like him someday."

And here's the main thing I wanted to say.  Ladies, let's treat our husbands like men.

Let's show them, our children, and the world around us that we know these guys work hard, love their families, and are doing the best they know.   Let's bite our tongues when we're tempted to nag - er, remind...and instead let's praise them for what they're doing well.    For the ways they've stepped up to responsibility and done right.

Are you in a situation where it feels to hard?  Where you're struggling to respect your spouse?  I'm aware that you're out there.  I'm sorry.  Know that I'm praying for you today.   I would like to humbly suggest that you pray for a place to start, however basic.  What's one thing you respect about your husband?  Just fine one, and start from there.

I don't think we should call our husbands our "boys."  Let's honor them.  Let's call them what they are. Not our boys.  Not our burdens.  Not something to check off our task list.

But...our men.

the day after Easter

We had a beautiful day yesterday.  Resurrection Sunday dawned clear and beautiful.  We had blue skies and warm temperatures.  The morning began with joy, and a wild pulsing happiness that made my heart sing.

The day found us raising our voices with other believers.  Gathering with family and soaking in the wonder of the day.    Listening to Handel's Messiah at full blast, swept up in the victory.  "I Know That My Redeemer Liveth."  "Hallelujah Chorus."  "Worthy is the Lamb."  Yes.  Yes!

And then Monday morning dawns.  It starts too early.  The sky is filled with clouds.  Our toddler is fussy.  Correction - our toddler is an absolute bear.  Breakfast is rushed, we're running late and the kitchen is a mess when we leave for Monday School.

The day feels harried and chaotic.  This Monday...the day after Easter.

Where is the wild happiness of yesterday?  Where are the ready smiles, the joyful thought of those sunbeams falling on an empty tomb on a morning so long ago?

The fact is that it's not about a day.  It's not about the sunshine or the songs, the new dresses or even the time with family.  It's about a risen Savior.  About truth, a truth that overcomes clouds and crankiness...sin and death.

Every day I have the knowledge of that truth.  Regardless of the minutiae of my day, truth remains.   The joy is there.  I have only to make the choice.

I want to keep my eyes on Him.   If I focus on the stuff around me, I will surely sink.   It's so good to know that the truth is not dependent on how my day is going, or how I'm feeling.  The truth is, He rose and He reigns.

It's not about a day.  It's not about a feeling.  It's about Jesus.

And so I choose joy.  I choose Him.

the end of the story

Today I find myself reflecting on the Lord's followers.  The ones who watched in confusion and fear as their celebrated hero was betrayed, arrested, and hung on a cross to die.  They didn't understand, those men and women.  Those who were fishermen, tax collectors, and more.  They couldn't remember that He'd told them, warned them - of everything.  That He would be killed...and rise again on the third day.  They watched (those who could bear it), stunned, maybe even despairing.

And those days they spent in between.  Knowing He was dead.   Fearful of what might happen next.  Feeling abandoned and lost.

They didn't know what we know.  They couldn't comprehend the end of story - how beautiful would become their pain.  Let's revel in the fact that we know what was coming early that Sunday morning - and that we serve a risen Savior.

The world can do its worst.  The enemy who comes to steal, kill and destroy may attack...but even so, it doesn't change the truth.  Jesus came to take our sins away.  He died a terrible death on a Roman cross, but three days later He conquered sin and death.  He is the victor, our savior and redeemer.

Have a blessed and wonder-filled Good Friday.

how I became a mother of five

My husband and I have a larger family than I ever dreamed.

Back when we were dating, we had the talk.  You know: the one about family size.  How many kids did I want?  Two...maybe three.  But my husband?  He wanted six.   Yes, six.  I wrote him off as a little crazy and decided that I ought to be able to have the final say because, after all, I was the mama.

I really was pretty meek and mild, but on this I was firm.  I wasn't having any six children.

The summer I was pregnant with our third son, we talked a lot about whether or not we were "done."  I was feeling finished, and I thought Jeff was on the same page.  Still, after our little one was born, my husband didn't have peace about closing the door on more children.   So we waited and talked, and talked some more.  I must admit, I was a little annoyed.  I thought we'd had a deal.  I thought, "Okay, we've had three healthy, gorgeous kids.  We've had the births we wanted - safe, perfect waterbirths.  Let's stop while we're ahead."  Besides, our house was feeling a little crowded with three boys under the roof.

But my husband didn't have peace about it.  So we waited.

And you know what?   The Lord completely changed my heart.  It's true, and do you know how I know it was the Lord?  Because I never, ever would have chosen this way of my own accord.  I wanted things neat and tidy, easy to manage.  I wanted things wrapped up in a neat little bow.  Three kids. Three bedrooms.  The minivan.  No extra chairs needed at the dining room table.  Convenient.

But He did, He changed my heart.  It was a complete 180. And when I decided to let Him call the shots, and to respect the way He was leading my husband, I had the most tremendous peace about adding more children to my family.

If they weren't all healthy?  That would be alright.  If we ended up having a less-than-perfect birth experience?  We would be okay.   And bedroom arrangements, we would figure those out too.

So we opened up to the idea of God growing our little family.   We let go of that control, we relinquished some of our preferences.  We opened our hands and our hearts to receive what He might give us. I experienced so much joy at that letting go!  There were times of anxiety and nervousness, but we believed God would be faithful; He would lead us.

Since that time we gave been blessed with a perfectly delightful daughter and a dimpled son who is absolutely bursting with charm.  They are gifts to our family.  They bring us joy every day.  Of course they stretch us.  Of course there are times when things are hard.  But they are worth it.

God has been faithful to us on this journey.  He has provided us with a spacious home - but we would be fine if He hadn't.  He has graciously allowed us to experience two more beautiful home waterbirths - but if that wasn't to be, we would have coped.  He has provided.  We don't know what the future holds, but we do know this: He is faithful.  He gives grace daily to parent this little brood He's given us.

It's not always neat.   It's not always tidy.  Yes, there's more laundry and we go through more food than some families.  I am regularly amazed at how often I run the dishwasher.  And I often play the single parent when my husband serves in church on Sunday mornings and sometimes manage five bedtimes (not to mention baths) all by myself.  But I've learned how to do what needs to be done.   With God's help, with God's grace, you figure it out.

It's not always convenient, or neat, or tidy.  But this is our family.  These are our children - our beautiful, amazing blessings from above.  And they are worth it.

that's not how it works

In my 5-year-old son Owen's Sunday school class, they discussed service.  He came home with a "service spinner", and I'm thinking he might have missed the point.

I could be mistaken, but my thought was that he is supposed to consider ways he might serve others.

Instead, he keeps using the wheel to indicate who is serving at the current moment.  We've tried to explain this, but he refuses to change his mind.  When his brother was emptying the dishwasher, the wheel read "Ben."  As Owen observed me helping my daughter when she had a sore finger, he exclaimed "Oh!  Mom's giving Elise some essential oils!" and rushed over to turn the spinner to say "Mom."

Hmm.  Well, at least he notices when service is occurring around him.  It's better than nothing, I guess...

gifts, teaching, and...me

It's a funny thing.

See, I am not a teacher.  When my husband first mentioned the idea of homeschooling, I nearly ran screaming from the room.  Every single experience I'd ever had teaching Sunday school or vacation Bible school has felt like a nightmare.  I don't mind assisting in a classroom.  If a teacher needs support or an extra pair or eyes of hands, I'm there.  I'll quietly follow her lead, no problem at all.  But me as the teacher?   Not at all my cup of tea.

And yes, I homeschool my kids.  But as I've mentioned, it's a huge challenge for me.  It is hard.  And also, they're my kids.  I know them better than anyone else in the world does, with the exception of my husband.  So it's a little different.  As a mother I'm teaching them things all the time, homeschooling or not.

Yet in the past few months I've found myself more and more in the role of teacher.  A friend asked me to show her how to make kombucha and I agreed. She came over one January afternoon, and I went through the process - I explained, poured, etc. while she took notes and asked questions.

Since that day I have given three more kombucha tutorials, the latest one being today.  I'm finessing my spiel, working out how to present the steps in order without having to wait for time to elapse (think of a cooking show where they put one pan into the oven and then pull another, the finished result, out).  And I think I'm getting a little bit better as I gain experience and confidence.

So yes, it's a funny thing.  I'm not a natural teacher.  I never sought out teaching - in fact it still stresses me out at times.  But here I am - teaching my kids decimals, and teaching my friends how to make kombucha.

God did not make the ability to teach my gift.  But all the same He is using teaching to stretch me, push me way out of my comfort zone, a share the blessing of making kombucha at home.  I'm so thankful for that - all of it.

groundhog day

I'm in one of those seasons where it feels a little as though I'm living in the movie "Groundhog Day."  You know, the one with Bill Murray, where he has to relive the same day over and over and over?   Or maybe a better way to describe it is as being on a hamster wheel.  Making the same concerted effort with very little to show for it.

See, it's actually not that every day is the same.  I do have some variation, and for the most part I'm happy with our routine.  The part that feels "samey" is easily one of the most frustrating aspects of my life.  Organizing a major playroom overhaul, only to find the space in complete disarray three or four days later.  Tidying the downstairs in the afternoon - and it's trashed again before dinner.   Mopping the floor and enjoying the beautiful sheen...for about 90 minutes.  And don't even get me started about the laundry.

And then there are the things I find myself saying over and over again.  "Inside voices, please."  "We don't run in the kitchen!" "His feelings were hurt; please go make things right with your brother." "Sweetheart, you forgot to [sweep, empty the litterbox, put away your books, etc.]."

Are my efforts making any difference?  Do my words fall on deaf ears?  Or am I wasting my energy as well as my breath?  Because there are times, like this moment, when it seems that I'm doing the same thing day after day, week after week, month after month, with very little so show for it.  Sometimes I wonder if I'm invisible.





But I'm clinging to the hope that it does matter.  That some day my children will become responsible, mature, compassionate adults.  I'm choosing to believe that as I commit my work to the Lord, it will eventually, beautifully bear fruit.

Here's hoping.  And here's to showing up day after day.  I pray that the sacrifices made during this time will make a difference in the lives and hearts of my family members, and will "stand as a monument to an even greater God."
 

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.  ~Galatians 6:9

needy

My two-year-old daughter came out of her bedroom on Sunday morning wearing a scowl on her face.

"Kyle say me sick," she said indignantly.  She was positively grumpy at the suggestion that she was not in glowing, perfect health.  What on earth would make anyone believe she was ill?

Never mind that she'd been up the night before with a fever.  Never mind that she was coughing, sniffling, that her eyes were watery.  Never mind the red smudges under those big brown eyes.  She was a mess.

When we told her she couldn't go to church that day, she cried.  My girl loves going to church, seeing her friends, attending her "big girl class."  She's always excited to hear it's a church day.

I'm hoping it isn't mostly about the clothes.

All morning long, she insisted she was fine.  Anyone with a pair of eyes could have known, just to look at her, that she was under the weather.  But no, she didn't need to nap.  She didn't want a drink.  She wouldn't stay on the couch and rest.  She was just fine, thank you very much.

By the time lunch was over, her fatigue was undeniable; she could hardly hold her head up, she was so weary.  Even so, we had to absolutely insist that she lay down in her bed for a while.  And such insistence was met with another flood of tears.  She just couldn't believe it - or maybe she just couldn't admit it.

She had a need.  But even in her neediness, she refused to accept the truth.

She was fine.  Just fine.

Friends, I believe this is a picture of how we ourselves can be.

We too have a need.  We are desperate, failing, completely unable to do it alone. We don't want to accept our weakness - our inability - our need.  Eyes watering, choking back our coughs, nearly unable to lift our heads in weariness, we insist that we are fine.  Just fine.  We don't need help.

We don't need a Savior.

But we are so wrong.

We have sinned - each and every one of us.  No exceptions.  We all come stained with sin, sullied and stinking with the stuff we've chosen to do, say, and think.  We so desperately need a Redeemer, someone who can lift our burden and wash us clean.

We cannot remove that burden on our own.  And we cannot purify ourselves.  We are desperate, failing, completely unable to do it alone.  We are needy.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer said,  "A prison cell, in which one waits, hopes - and is completely dependent on the fact that the door of freedom has to be opened from the outside, is not a bad picture of Advent."

The season of Advent has come and gone.  But the advent, the coming of One long-awaited and desperately needed, remains.   He has come, and we never again will have to face life alone.

So rejoice, my friends and let us never deny our need.  We must remember that this is the meaning of Christmas - and it extends far beyond a few weeks in December.

We needed Him.  God sent Him.  He came to seek and save those who were lost (Luke 19:10).

Now that's something worth celebrating.

undone

We call him Dr. Destructo, and with good reason.

The other evening I was tidying the play area - a little space close to the kitchen with baby and toddler toys, for the little ones to play nearby while I'm working.  The play area'd had a lot of love recently and things were in pretty serious disarray.   Alone in the house with Gabriel, having a few minutes to spare before I would take him up to bed, I thought to spiff it up.  Give us the gift of a nice neat play space in the morning.

I gathered the play food into their groups.  I sorted the magnetic animals and the ring-stacking cone.  I put the car and tow truck in the Little People garage along with their mechanics.   Gabe was happily beside me, and it took me a few minutes to realize what he was doing.

To my dismay, he was coming along behind me and undoing everything.  Unabashedly, without shame.  The clothes to dress the little princess?  Plucked up one by one and dropped off the shelf.  The magnetic animals?  Dumped on the floor again.  His sister's plastic tea set and the tractor set.  And then he went for the real prize: those child-sized pots and pans.

He'd come through like a tiny tornado and disrupted my attempts at order, completely and utterly.

Some times in life are like that - you're trying to put things in order, and you've nearly got it...and then one thing happens and it's all undone.   Without warning, in an instant.  Erased.  Changed.  Undone.  As though it had never been almost there.

Some people in life are like that.  There are those who sweep in and knock us off balance.  Sometimes in a positive way, sometimes not.  And there are children who are like that too.  They come into our lives like little tidal waves: roaring, confusing us, stretching us.    They challenge all our previous experiences, all we thought we knew of parenting.  They leave us a little shaken...and maybe even a little scared.

Gabriel has been that child for me.

He has been a hard baby for me.  I love him fiercely and completely, but he has been hard.   Considerably more demanding than my other children (with one possible exception), a lot more clingy.  He refuses to sleep through the night with anything like consistency - most nights he's up three times.  He consistently yells over my voice when I read aloud for school.   He is challenging, in more ways than I can express here and now.

And I know, yes, I know, that there are parents in far more difficult circumstances.  I know there are so many babies with health issues and intolerances.  I hope and pray that my words do not sound callous or insensitive.  I do not mean for them to be so.

But in my own life, in my family, in my home, in my circumstances, it's been very much a stretching experience.  He has been a stretching experience.  But it's an experience given specifically to me, and I'm growing through it.

I am finding my footing - and finding myself thankful.  Thankful for this past year, the challenging times as well  as the happy ones.  And there have been very happy times for Gabe and me.  We have a great time together, and I think it's safe to say we're crazy in love with each other.

Still, the truth remains: he rocked my world.

He has changed me forever, and it's good.  He is a blessing, and an instrument that the Lord has used to shape, humble and mold me.  I'm so thankful for my little son, for the place he's taken in our family.  Sometimes coming undone makes me stronger in the end.

Whatever the path, whatever the situation, it can refine me.  God can refine me through it, if I let him.  Even through those crazy twists and turns of this journey of life.

We need that book.

The other day I was listening to Dr. Dobson's program via podcast, and I heard about a book.  It wasn't very long before I knew, I knew.  We need that book.

I told my husband (who also listens to the program) about it, and his immediate response was "Buy it."  We're not usually so fast in deciding to make such purchases, so either it was my zeal or the program itself which influenced such fast agreement.  I'm frankly not sure, and I'm a little afraid to ask.

We do love books, though.  I've often said we should have a separate corner of the budget, just for books.  I love the feel of them in my hand, the smooth covers.  I love the sound of the pages being turned.  I love the soft tickle as I search for a certain part.  My husband and I have been known to come home from marriage conferences with a gorgeous stack of new, wonderful books.  Some area read right away, some end up sitting on a nightstand for months or even longer.  I suppose it's alright, though - we're helping to support likeminded writers, and if we start wandering around in search of reading material we've got a ready supply, yes?

I did call about the book, and last Sunday it came home to our house.  It is wonderful so far, and I hope it will make a big difference in our family.  But that's not really what this post is about...

See, when I am faced with something unknown, I usually seek out a book.  I'll go to a bookstore or pour over the library's website.  I'll search Amazon, ask my friends.  Something in my seems to believe that when I need an answer, it's likely to be found in a book.   I have books on romance, marriage, breastfeeding, baby signs, parenting, cooking, nourishing foods, family nights and yes, homeschooling. We even have a book on the best places to kiss in the Northwest.

It's a pretty thorough collection.

Yes, books are my default, my go-to.  I love books and have found them very helpful and enriching in my life.

And then my thoughts turn to the Good Book.  The B-I-B-L-E.  The Word.

Living.  Active.  Unchanging.  Powerful.
Truth.

The Bible is not a book for the faint of heart -- it is a book full of all the greed and glory and violence and tenderness and sex and betrayal that benefits mankind.  It is not the collection of pretty little anecdotes mouthed by pious little church mice -- it does not so much nibble at our shoe leather as it cuts to the heart and splits the marrow from the bone.  It does not give us answers fitted to our small-minded questions, but truth that goes beyond what we even know to ask.                           

             ~Rich Mullins, "The World as Best As I Remember It: Thoughts & Reflections" 

Oh, how we need that book...

homeschooling: meet me there

I've made no secret on this blog of the fact that homeschooling is not easy for me.  From the beginning I have tried to be honest about that - even as it chips away at my pride a little.  It's an ongoing struggle (challenge) for me, but I am blessed to be able to do it.  I am thankful for the freedom to do it.  I am incredibly grateful that my husband supports me in it the way that he does.  I don't mean to grumble or complain, and I hope I don't come off as pathetic and whiny.  I'm just trying to be real.

Schooling my children at home is something I believe God has asked me to do.  And so, though it's by far the harder road for me,  I am going to do it.   The idea of being out of His will is not worth it to me.  So I'm pressing on.

But here's the thing: I need to be on my knees.  I've recently been convicted (from several different sources, as it happens) that I may have been trying to do this under my own steam.  I'll ask for prayer now and again, but am I praying about it much?  Honestly, no.  That's embarrassing to admit, but there you go.  The sad truth.  No wonder it's such a struggle for me.

I don't mean to suggest that all this will be easy-as-pie if I pray about it.  I'm sure we'll have ups and downs,d ays when I start listing other options.

Still, in a way this feels like a turning point.  I've been brought to a place where I am convinced, at last, that I must plead with the Lord about this before I even leave my bedroom in the morning.  I must ask for help, I must commit it all to Him.  Because I finally know that unless I do that, I simply don't stand a chance.

How I long to enjoy this path where God has placed me.  How I want to see my children thrive.  I don't want us to merely survive a day or term or year...I want us to grow.  To grow in wisdom, in knowledge, in relationship, in our walk with Jesus, in our love for one another.  I so hope this coming year can be one we can look back on and say "Yeah, that was good stuff.  It was fun."  Wouldn't that be something?

But even if it is always a hard thing, even when the difficult days outweigh the fun ones, I will obey.  And I will commit it to Him; I don't want all this to be in vain.

So...I'm going to call on his name.  To remember that He has a plan for all this, and to know that he will be faithful to complete what he's begun.  I'm going to sing "Trust and Obey" to myself, and to trust that through the ups and downs, the times of triumph and the times of self-doubt...Jesus will meet me there.

Unless the Lord builds the house,
    the builders labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
    the guards stand watch in vain.

                                                                             Psalm 127:1                                  

               

homeschooling: a little lost

Lately when I think I about homeschooling, I've been feeling a little lost.  I feel that something needs to change, but it's difficult to say just what.  Is it the schedule?  The curriculum?  Our attitudes?  Possibly all of the above?

I spent a fair amount of last week in tears.  What to do?  Keep up the curriculum we have been doing?       Make the frightening move of choosing something new?  Three and a half years into this journey, the places where we are weak haunted me. Was it a matter of a child's individual pace?  Or was I failing my son?

For a while my husband and I discussed trying some kind of web academy.  There was a moment when we had pretty much decided to up pursue it for a year - and see.  I won't lie; it sounded heavenly to me.  But with a little more time and thought, it has become apparent that this is not where our path lies.

After much agonizing, we decided to make a bit of a change.  I will still be using the Charlotte Mason method, but with a different curriculum: one which offers me, as the teacher, a bit more guidance and structure.  Today I took the plunge and made my first step in this direction...I ordered a teacher's guide.

I feel trembly, but more secure in my footing.  God has not released me from this thing, and I have no way of knowing if He ever will.  So I'll keep on...stepping out in faith.  Trusting that He will walk through it with us, praying that He will give me wisdom - and pick up the pieces when I do fail.

Pray for me in this.  Teaching does not come easy to me, not even with the kids I love dearest in the world.  Fitting in different learning styles, different paces and ages...I am still working it out as I go.

Scary?  Yes.  But it will be, I have to believe, so worth it in the end.

So...obedience.  That's my plan.  Obedience, and a lot of prayer.

flowers in the water

It was five years ago this week.

 My husband and I dropped off our two young boys at a friend's house.  Quietly we got back in our vehicle and drove away.  After making a short stop, we headed toward our destination.  Parked.  Our feet trudged over pavement, a dirt trail lined by tall grasses, and finally sand.

It had been nearly seven months since our loss.  Since our little one had slipped away in the night.  The memory was fresh, as were the questions.  Why?  Why like that? When we had so much love to give?  I'd wrestled with God and His will as never before.   I had wept, prayed, searched the Scriptures, shared about my experience with other women.  I hadn't found any answers - but I had something that tasted like peace.

Hand in hand, we walked along the water.  It was crowded that day - it was the weekend, after all.  There were voices, people laughing, talking, splashing.  We walked on, seeking what privacy we could find.  After a while we settled on a spot by a bend in the river.

We did not think to bring a camera, but in my mind's eye I can see the sunshine, warm and bright that afternoon.  I can see the glimmer of the water, I can almost hear a slight breeze rustling the grass.

Arms around each other's waists, we stood.  Quiet in our thoughts.  Everything we'd needed to say to one another had already been said, several times over.

We had come to say goodbye.  To honor the day when we'd been expecting...not an arrival, but the mysterious countdown to begin.  The questions:  "How much longer?"  "How are you feeling?"  "Are you all ready?"  The wondering and waiting, the watching and hoping.

August, we had thought.  In August we would have a new little baby.

But it was not to be.

Instead, heaven had gained a precious new soul, a sweet one to sing with the angels, hang with the Apostles, sit at Jesus' feet.  We were sure, and yet we ached.  We ached for the love we'd lost - at least for this life. For the little love who had flown away.

We stood by the river, holding each other.  I am sure we prayed.  And then gently, reverently, we placed a small bouquet of flowers in the water.  An assortment of beauty and color.  Delicate petals, each stalk with a cell structure crafted by the One whose ways are higher.

We held each other as we watched them float away.  Tears slipped down my cheeks as I whispered goodbye.

And trembling a little, we sang.

How lovely is Your dwelling place O'Lord Almighty
My soul longs and even faints for You
For here my heart is satisfied within Your presence
I sing beneath the shadow of Your wings

Better is one day in Your courts
Better is one day in Your house
Better is one day in Your courts
Than thousands elsewhere

One thing I ask and I would seek to see Your beauty
To find You in the place Your glory dwells 
One thing I ask and I would seek to see Your beauty
To find You in the place Your glory dwells
My heart and flesh cry out for You the living God
Your spirits water to my soul
I've tasted and I've seen come once again to me
I will draw near to You, I will draw near to You

Better is one day in Your courts
Better is one day in Your house
Better is one day in Your courts
Than thousands elsewhere

We knew, and in our gladness we gave thanks.

"Blessed are those who mourn,
    for they will be comforted."
(Jesus, Matthew 5:4)

where the grass is greener

Lately my daughter has been insisting that she has blue eyes.  I tell her "No, sweetheart, your eyes are brown.  Just like mine!  And your brothers', too.  Brown, dark, beautiful brown.  Like chocolate."

Sometimes she'll be satisfied.  But a few hours later she will start in again.  "My eyes blue! Blue eyes," she says, beaming at the mirror.

And it pains me a bit.  You see, when I was a little girl, I desperately wanted blonde hair and blue eyes.  I thought my own coloring was boring, but ...oh!  To have shining golden hair, bright blue eyes, to wear a pink ballerina's tutu - these were my dreams as a young girl.

So many times, I watch my little daughter.  The way she walks, her perfect confidence that she is lovely and adored.  I have a small tiara which sits on my jewelry box.  The other day I let her wear it for the first time.  We ran to the bathroom mirror: she to see how she looked, me because I wanted to witness her reaction.  Her face positively glowed.  I said "Oh Elise, you look beautiful."  Tearing her eyes away from the mirror, she looked at me with an expression of perfect happiness and breathed: "Yes."

I so want her to keep that.

I  want her to move with an air of confidence, to trust that what she has been given is just what she should have.  To like - nay, love, the color of her hair.  To fully appreciate the warm depth of her brown eyes.

And I suspect that much of that depends on me.

How I perceive my sense of womanhood.  Accentuating my femininity, embracing my body, my face...and yes, my eyes.  It's so very hard for me.  I made peace with my eye color years ago, but accepting other aspects of my appearance is a constant struggle for me.  Yet, I must, for myself as well as for her.

It isn't easy, mothering a little girl.  It's a joy, make no mistake - but what a responsibility!  I need to chose the way I speak about myself so, so carefully.  But beyond that, I want to learn to love myself better. To be thankful for my strong body, my health.  To thank the Lord for the belly that has carried six babies, the hips that have birthed five.  To accept that He has endowed me with my coloring, that He chose the hue of my hair and the shade of my eyes just for me.

To believe that I am beautiful in His sight, just as she is so beautiful in mine.

It isn't easy, mothering a little girl.  But it is a blessing...in more ways than one.

like mother, like son?

Sometimes I worry for my boy.

He's so very much like me, in many of the ways I am uncomfortable with myself.  The quality which has stood out to me lately is how we both tend  to respond to friendships.  We have the inclination, when we find someone with whom we really seem to connect, to form a strong bond to that person.  To count on them, miss them when they're not around, wonder what they'd think of this, that, or the other thing.

And I suppose that's not necessarily bad...

But it leaves one so open to being hurt.  Perhaps it's human nature to be forgotten when there is a distance or passage of time.  Or simply to be replaced.  Maybe it's something everyone goes through.  Being burned - forgotten, abandoned - by a friend.  Putting yourself out there, believing you've found something special, then finding that it wasn't so special to them.

So when I see my son put his heart and soul into a friendship, I find myself trembling a little.  I watch, hoping he won't have to feel the pain of rejection ... not just yet.  I bite my lip against warning him not to "come on too strong," not to "overstay his welcome," not to make himself tiresome.  I stay silent, hoping.  Hoping that the burden I've carried won't become his.  Praying that the ways he reminds me so much of myself won't necessarily mean he'll walk the same road.

Swallowing the lump in my throat.  Letting go.

Friendship - real friendship - is a funny thing.  It feels like such a gamble.  You risk so, so much.  But the payoff may make it all worthwhile.  Is it true, it is "better to have loved and lost" than not traveled the path at all?  In spite of everything....