Full where I expected empty

 We’re in this season of life - it’s the preface to our boys leaving the nest. 

I think in some ways this is a gracious preparation. A kindness - preventing these levels of leaving from all hitting at once. 

Everyone has scattered, for an evening or two here and there, each week on the regular throughout the last year or two. But now - 

Now that summer has hit and the boys are older the scattering is longer and further. I’m so excited to watch them stretch and learn and grow. And I also have those quiet moments just to myself - those moments where my mama heart is smiling but weeping. Because deep love of course equals some need for time and space to learn the new. 

Noah is gone until the 30th of this month and he actually kind of nailed it the other day when we were talking. He said, “wow, it must be annoying to do so much for us and have us need you for so much and then suddenly have us begin to have our own thoughts and lives and go our own way.”

The part he didn’t nail was the “annoying” part. That word doesn’t even circle around the definition of what this is for me.  Not at all. But I think he came pretty close to actually getting it; this feeling that I carry and can barely even explain to myself. 

The time line between these amazing humans needing you for everything, to needing you for nothing (at least in a tangible sense) is shockingly more temporary than you think. 

With a graduation still fresh in the rear view of my mind, the processing of this life stage has been closely held in my heart. 

Tears have come quite easily, and sometimes without permission, of late. But it’s not in the way and for the reasons I expected. I remember watching “older” parents {ha!} as their children graduated, moved out, got married. And I saw the mama tears. “Oh this must be so sad!” - I thought. 

You don’t know until you’re there. 

And now I’m planted firmly “there”. 

I’m not sad. 

I’m deeply steeped in memories, nostalgia, and sentimentality. 

But it’s not sadness. Honestly I’m so relieved that this isn’t as crushing as my expectation had made it. 

At the same extent that this transition is not annoying, this phase is not sad. 

I suddenly get it - that the weight on your chest and the tightness of your heart is not the feeling of empty.

It’s the pressure of full. 

A pressing in from a fullness of life and joy and love and memories, 

not an emptiness from human presence being gone. 

Full to the brim of all the goodness of those years. The moments that I was intentional and I saw them and joined them and entered into their world. I fell deeply in love with that world. 

Magic. 

These tears seep out of that.

It’s the opposite of empty, but a fullness unlike anything I’ve ever known. Full of my purpose and God’s goodness. Full of traditions and surprises, and growing up together. 

They took my sleep and my pre-conceived ideas. They changed my body, and my mind. They obliterated my ill placed pride. They took my time, my second piece of pie, the color of my hair.

And in turn - they gave me…. Well, everything. 

So all of those articles and emotion manipulating media pieces stating that “you only have 18 summers” - 

yes, it’s true. 

Your time is limited with them. And there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop it. There is no pause button either. 

But it’s not to be dreaded! It’s absolutely, heart wrenchingly beautiful. 

Love each one of those summers with everything you have, but not with dread or fear. 

And when you do embrace that time, and it starts rushing by, you may feel this pressure on your heart that mimics sadness or emptiness - only to be pleasantly surprised that it is actually what being filled to the brim feels like. 

Noah turns 14

 I'll never forget the peaceful feeling of December, 2006.  The year you came to us. So calm and comforting. 

Finally, by the time you were born, I had begun to learn a really important lesson.  I started to care less about any "how to" books, or well meaning advice given. I turned a blind eye to some of the mess and chaos around me and I held you for hours. 

I remember during some of those times of sitting there cuddling my brand new Christmas baby - trying to think of what it would be like to be your mom when you no longer fit in the crook of my arm.

Well dear Noah, fast forward 14 years and I look up to you 8 inches.  Yes, eight inches.  

But son,  I look up to you in more ways than stature.  I'm humbled to be parenting such a thoughtful and kind young man. I respect who you are becoming very much. 

Of course you have not "arrived",  as none of have. But you know that - and that is part of what I love about you. You know there is always work to do.  

This year has been a challenge and again, we are so proud of you for doing excellent work in school under less than ideal conditions. The way you have continued getting up before 6 am to get started with your work load, even doing it at home, was impressive. Grades are not the highest thing on our priority list, but the fact that we have never had to worry about this with you is a blessing. We see you, we see the effort, we see the result. 

It's neat to observe the choices you are making and friends you connect with.  One day a few weeks ago, when you had some friends over to play your new Zelda game, I couldn't help but observe their interactions with Caleb.  I always wonder with you and your brothers, how Caleb may affect your life. You've always been kind to him, and for that I am so grateful.  But I know it hasn't always been easy.  I know you've had to make sacrifices. On this particular day Caleb had just woken up and went to you and your friends in the porch.  Because of his vision issues he had to get really close to everyone to see who they were. Some were new friends and didn't necessarily know Caleb. I think I held my breath for a minute to see how you would respond.  A thirteen year old boy with a seventeen year old brother with special needs -  there are lots of ways you could handle this.  But you just matter of factly took it in stride and told him who each person was.  And they smiled, let him get up in their faces, and were so kind.  I'm very impressed with this group of guys. Thanks for choosing well. 

I have no doubt you will continue to over achieve and do quite well with the things you reach for. I am a little embarrassed that I can't help you with math at all any more.  And I'm glad you spent the time to teach me binary and base 8 and base 10 and stuff. Sorry if sometimes my eyes glaze over when we talk. ;) I love you dearly.  I am so happy you are in our family. 

I know that your relationship with your little brother has been tough at times too. That's why it has meant so much to me that you have been willing to help him with his school work while we have been virtual. He started going to you more and more this year because you are a great teacher! I know it often wasn't your first choice, but again - I saw you take a deep breath and choose well.  I was so impressed with how well you taught him math concepts.  I was impressed that in the midst of his frustrations, and sometimes fit throwing over it, I could not get through to him and calm him. but you could.  And you did. I am grateful for the love of our family, even in our imperfections. 

Keep being you.  I know you will. You are confident and do not wish to conform for anyone.  I pray you will continue seeking God with your whole heart. 

Love you,

Mom

{April} 10 on the 10th

It's been exactly a year and a month since I participated in this photo challenge!  Time to jump back in.  It's always so fun to document a day - even a mundane day - because it helps me look for the lovely things.

This was a Sunday spent at home.  Half the fam went to church and I had 2 guys at home with me.  We have been fighting a crazy strep battle with our Noe.  He's had it for three weeks and 2 rounds of separate antibiotics.   We kept him home for rest and for lovin'.  

I prayed throughout the day for joy and for eyes that see lovely.


{This is what 10 on 10 is all about: taking a photo every hour for ten consecutive hours on the tenth of each month, documenting a day in your life and finding beauty among the ordinary moments.}

Noe's sore throat meant breakfast in the blender.  K and I also participated. :) 

I'm obsessed with candles.  I burn them all the time.  I love making the house smell welcoming and homey - and like fresh pumpkin pie.  Ironically I have found one of my favorite brands at Tractor Supply. 

Hi.  Blah day, no fixin' up selfie. 

Yes please.

Starting prep for a yummy family meal.  

That grin can usually be found behind any manner of Apple product. ;) I love this teenager so much. 

Home sweet home for the day.   Praying over this one - letting him play the Wii to distract him from his discomfort.  Hoping to get him well again soon!

Done - and ready to be enjoyed by all.  The other half of our family is home with us now. 

Screen shot.  I just had to throw this in here too.  For memories sake... 

Dave's uniforms all washed, dried, and ready for the week ahead.   He's been home for 9 days.  Nine beautiful rare days.  I may have blinked back big ol' tears as I prepped the uniforms. 

One more story before bed time.  He read the entire thing by himself.  He's turning into such a big kid.

{Break Me to Better}

I remember when I was a child I felt strange to be around people who were "different".  Physical limitations didn't really make me uncomfortable, but I wasn't sure how to respond to those who had mental issues.  I had a cousin whom culture would label "different".  He was a child-like young adult.  Mostly he was fun, but every now and then I just felt unsure of myself around him, so it seemed easier to just not deal with those emotions and stay away.

When I became a mom in a rather scary way, 3 months before I was "supposed to",  I was immediately thrust into a life that consisted of medical information overload.

The boys were micro preemies.  They were dangerously early.  The list of things that could go wrong with them was extensive.  I tried to take it all in and adjust expectations of the life I thought I would have.   That's kind of too much to do in a few days time....  But oh my little quivering heart tried to stand tall and do just that.

I knew immature lungs were at the top of the major concerns. So I was trying to wrap my mind around ventilators, trachs, surfactant, and oxygen saturation.  In addition to that we knew that fine motor and gross motor skills were greatly compromised by the boys' muscles missing out on the growth and building that needs to happen in the last 3 months of pregnancy.

Having a child that may have breathing struggles for the rest of his life and possibly never walk or be able to ride a bike were very real possibilities.

And I thought I could probably do this.  Yes.  We would study up on how to help as much as possible, and get used to what that would look like for us.

Yeah - we could do this.

And then K had a brain bleed. And a whole new world of medical professionals and scary possibilities entered our life.

I remember sitting in a neurologists office with my tiny baby.  Just a few months old.  He was cute and cuddly.  Doing surprisingly well for all he had already been through.  While he was on a low flow of oxygen, his lungs were doing incredibly well.  We had started occupational therapy for fine motor skills and Physical therapy for gross motor skills.  While he was responding well to all of this,  neurological questions which no one could answer were creeping in.

Would he recognize us? Would he speak?  Would he be able to form any kind of intellectual skill sets?

To these and so many more questions the resounding answer was "wait and see".

I didn't want to admit to anyone that these were the issues that were like kindling to the  fear fire smoldering deep inside of me.

I would sit in these offices of various brain doctors and observe a lot around me.  I would see other babies like mine. 

"I bet they are hearing a lot of "just wait and see" too.." 

We would exchange little smiles and grasp any solidarity we could find in our tired selves. 

But then I would see some older kids.  Some teens.  Kids in wheel chairs - some drooling or moaning.      There wasn't solidarity because this was something I didn't know at all.  Something that scared me.  A foggy possibility that loomed in my future.  I felt something in the region of the fear fire.  I didn't know how to identify it.  Subtle waves of cultural influence would blow on the embers of that fire - and the flames would sometimes just rage.  But I couldn't really talk about it. 

"How do I do this?" 

"I don't know how to parent like this." 

"I'm lost.  I'm afraid.  I never asked for this."

And then there would be guilt.

I know my God sees our potential.  He sees our hearts.  He sees our biggest fears and hesitations as potential places for sin to settle into.  So he swoops down and rescues us - sometimes by pulling those fears up and making them our reality.  He does this in order to  make them impossible to harbor that which He knows is not for our best.  

Selfishness. 

Judgment.

Fear.

He knew I could do better. 

So he gave me a child with mental, emotional, intellectual, and physical struggles.  

And he called me blessed. 

Everything was different when he was a baby.  Cute and little.  Potential untapped.  "Wait and see".  

While wait and see may still always be a bit of a mantra when it comes to our K, he is now 13.  We see.  Maturity will take place, and changes will continue to happen.  But we see  - him.  

See my eyes? My face?  I believe my feeble heart, held in the hands of my all powerful God, shows there.  I am parenting some of my deepest fears.  And this young man has forced me to be braver than I thought I could be. 

I know my parents desire was to raise me in a counter cultural way.  They knew "culture" was devious, fickle, and a lie.   But it still sneaks in.  It whispers its way in like a tangled web of something unrecognizable -  that soon begins to resemble truth. 

I'm fairly certain I would have succumbed to several of those lies if I were not K's mom.   While I have always considered myself pro-life I'm not sure I valued every.single.life as a beautiful creation formed by a God who makes no mistakes. 

What a privilege.  What a privilege to start each day needy and desperate.  To peak behind the curtain of culture into the realm of eternity and truth.  

This guy shows me.  He teaches me.  He keeps me grounded and humble.  He shows me my limitations and God's power.  

And as he grows and learns more about his own struggles he keeps my heart soft and broken.  - And I am learning that is not all bad.  In fact a soft heart - willing to be shattered for purposes beyond my own agenda has begun to be a hesitant but bold prayer of mine.  

He prefers things very structured and clings to routine.  When things happen that are out of his control - and this happens regularly in a family of 6 - he melts.  It's the only way I can explain it.  I watch my sweet boy just melt away in a puddle in front of me and he goes to a place where he can not be reached.  It literally breaks me.  And that's ok. 

Brokenness has value.  - Just one more thing he's taught me. 

It is during those meltdowns that his realities pour out.  He isn't one to talk a whole lot about how he feels about things during day to day life.  He's getting a lot better about asking for help when he needs it and advocating for himself, but we never quite get a glimpse into his head and heart like we do when he has a melt down.  

"I can't do anything!"

"I am invisible!"

"I'm never going to be okay!"

"I'm afraid."

"I can't do anything for myself!"

And so much more.   So much that has helped me to see, really see, what it is like to be someone who does not have all of the advantages that I have.  

And I need to see that.  

I need to feel that.  

It is so hard to feel that.  And oh do I ever need to.  We all need to.  

I sit and hold him and I cry with him.  I wrap him in a blanket.  I feel helpless next to him.  And I cry out to God on his behalf.  

Among all of his diagnosis {which really mean less and less each year...} is autism. It hasn't changed a whole lot. But it has helped us figure out a few of his responses and form some helpful ways to deal with those responses.  Saturday was national autism awareness day and I gave myself a special "jamicure" in honor of the way our family dynamic has been shaped by autism.  

Puzzle pieces.  

Pieces of my heart.  Pieces that don't exactly fit together in any logical way.  

When I look at my hands I smile.  My boy has my heart.  I'm so glad.  I'm so glad that he has personified some of my fears and shown me an immensely bigger picture.  

{Happy 6}

Dear Malachi,

As is my annual tradition, I am writing your birthday letter.  Yes, your birthday was three weeks ago.  And what a three weeks it has been for you.

{Deep breath}

I think perhaps my busyness and inability to string three sentences together on your actual birthday was divinely appointed, because NOW - well, now I think the sentences will flow more coherently.  This birthday letter was meant to be written today. It's not late.

It's time right now to talk to you about how brave you are and how wonderful these six years have been.

Someday you will look back on the week you turned six and all of these memories will come back to you.  Turning six was fun and festive.  You love everything about birthdays, so taking cupcakes to your kindergarten class, having "birthday punch" at awana, and going to Build-a-Bear with Grandma were all reasons for that huge grin you wore daily.

And then the next week happened.

Your first broken bone.  You don't do things half way and everything is done with gusto and enthusiasm.  So, obviously you would not break a bone delicately, right?

It's that call no parent wants to get from the school.  Your daddy got it and he lovingly cared for you through the ER visit and the re-setting of your two arm bones.  You may or may not remember all of this.... but rest assured you impressed all who came in contact with you.  You took it all in stride. Quietly and pensively, but never breaking down.

I have often heard it said that a parent would take a child's pain onto themselves if possible. Sometimes it has been said in a cliche form.  Of course I know it is a truth. My heart-ties to your brothers have already shown me there's no question about it.  Anyone who has nurtured in a motherly way - whether it is through mentoring, fostering, adoption, or giving birth, knows this instinctively. We would take the pain. 

This morning I held your body and cradled your little head as you woke up from your second round of anesthesia after your second round of setting those uncooperative arm bones.  And as you whimpered and squirmed, tried not to cry,  and told me that your arm hurt and you just wanted to go home I would have broken every bone in my body to heal yours. 

Dear Malachi, there are a million things I could write in your sixth birthday letter.  I could write about your stubborn will,  your perfect giggle,  your ability to get adoring attention everywhere you go,  your already impressive work ethic,  your endless chatting,  your crazy bully-ish streak,  your deep questions, and even your sparkling eyes - but I just have to pause here and write this one thing.

When I held you this morning all I could wrap my mind around was that God loves you more than I love you.  And that thought was nearly unfathomable to me.  But that feeling - the thought that I would break all my bones and break my body for your healing was enough to keep what God has already done for your precious little self, and mine, in the forefront of my mind.

He created you for some incredible things.  By His wounds you have been healed.  Don't ever forget that littlest man.  You bring so much joy to this family.  We are celebrating you and hurting with you, taking care of you, and praying that physical healing of that arm happens so very soon.

And mostly -  We are so beyond thrilled to see evidence of God himself working in your young life. There's no greater joy.

Happy six, dear one.

~Mama

Hi. I'm a stay-at-home-mom with a child training hangover

Every year we put our backpacks away. We smile the giddy smiles and we are fresh.

 I say, "This year, I will enjoy them. All of the moments, all of the everything. It will be different because I am in a different place and they area older... and it will be different".

We do our big camping celebration and then we enter our New Normal with confidence and excitement.

...And it's not that different. The adjustments are the same, which lead me to the guilt and the "what's wrong with me?!" and the disappointment.

There's plenty of good, and alot of hard. It's just life. I'm begging God for extra strength and extra grace to offer these boys. None of us are used to all being under one roof all day every day. We are navigating the togetherness.

The second day we were back home from camping I ran out of milk. No biggie. We always run out of milk. I'll just jump in the van... and.... Wait. I'll make sure every one is dressed and ready to go. K will need his braces on. And... he's too big for a cart, but doesn't quite have the endurance to walk through the entire store to the back where the milk is. And they will want things. I just need milk. I don't want to hear about all of the things. 

Milk is overrated. Who needs milk anyway? -Not me.

My brain knows stuff - Like the fact that my time has never been my own. How selfish to think otherwise.

I live for higher things. Eternal things. I want to serve my family. It's my ministry.

Truth? - I want to... want to serve my family. But right now?
 I'm rarely alone.
I'm getting up early,
staying up late,
and my time not being my own is taking on a whole new definition.
I'm battling this bigger/uglier desire to be affirmed and to be served.

Just like every year. Oh human nature...


Today K is at Grandma's. And I am grateful. Grateful for her patience with him. Grateful she has been highly involved in his care since birth, therefore is comfortable and used to all that having K entails.

I am grateful for this grace, because I needed a break. And I can either hate that I needed a break, or I can simply say,"Thank you", and breathe. He blesses my socks off and he needs alot. As he gets older, personal care needs take more. He learns so differently, and feelings of inadequacy are never too far under the surface when I am in the trenches of parenting him.

I'm getting used to the noise level, and I am learning when I need to step away for a minute.
Before I feel that rising heart rate and smoldering frustration escalate.
Before the unkind words and ugly little creature of self  reigns.


So much God is teaching me. I am not a fan of being shown my weaknesses, and that is right where I am at now. Trying to humbly see them, having the courage to hit my knees, and repent. To truly turn from selfishness.


Trying to give the tools for "working things out" when the fighting starts (this seems pretty constant right now), disciplining the disrespect, unkindness, and disobedience - I feel a bit like I have a child training hangover....

One thing that has been coming into my heart - loud and clear - is that I need to address gender differences with much more gentle grace.
Because you guys, I have never felt more keenly the fact that

I AM OUTNUMBERED.


The lone female in a home with 5 guys will want to aggressively attack things that seem wrong. That do not make sense to her. That annoy her.


Asking God to open my eyes to what needs to change in my parenting, to see my boys as unique and valuable creations, and nurture my relationship with each one has resulted in.... well, just that. He is answering. He is stopping me in my tracks when I begin to "discipline" that which is not wrong doing.

"It's a boy thing. Leave it alone" - I swear God is whispering that in my ear daily. ;)

The competitive EVERYTHING. What the? I do not care who finished their cereal first.
Or stayed up latest.
Or got up earliest.
Or kicked tail in Mario Kart (Kicked mom's tail in Mario Kart? No.Big.Deal. Everyone does it. Yes, even the baby) ;)
Made the biggest Lego battleship.
Jumped the highest on the trampoline.

WHY? Why does it matter?

Because it does. And much is accomplished when guys are pushed by a drive to do better. Does it need to be channeled and managed? Yes. But it doesn't have to be squelched.

The silly? The loud? The imaginative? The endless talk about

Space
Mine craft
Their imaginary friend
Legos
What-would-happen-if _______________

I know it's investing in deeper relationships with them as they grow up. I know it's good. And sometimes? My brain feels like it is about to melt.

K asks me 10,000  several times a day what I am going to do tomorrow, what I am going to do right now, and what I am going to do after breakfast/lunch/supper/the laundry/bedtime. I know this is his way of having a connection with me. He is communication and ordering his world. But after the fifth time......


My mornings are fresh and I have new resolve. It's after about 8 hours I am done.
Need to breath, need some me time. 
Must.have.quiet.
Overstimulated.

What if we are ok answering 15 questions, but by #16 we start to snap back?

What is we are super fresh and full of self control and kindness in the morning, but after 8 hours or so we have used it up. Can't do it anymore?

And that scripture that talks about our entitlement to "me time"..... oh wait.

Renewing our minds? Yes. Refreshing our spirit and coming up for air? Indeed. But I am challenged with where I think I need to get that refreshment.

I know the answer. I know where I need to renew my strength. I know I can't do this alone. Practically "getting this" and really applying it is the process I currently find myself a part of.


I've always been the "stay at home mom who is hardly ever home". -During the fall and winter I am there with the guys in the morning, and when they get home from school. But other than that - I am constantly on the go. Imagine that. A stay at home mom who.... stays home. ;)

What I learned from a huge rusty radiator

{This is not a huge rusty radiator. This is the sound board at church.}

This guy…

I love him.

This week…

It's only Tuesday, and it feels very much like it should be Friday. Friday, or the next Friday. Guess who's spoiled? Me. I am. My husband works eight hours each day, five days each week. I know. Super cool. This week students are gone, so he gets to do big projects. He needs to take advantage of the time they are away and he can actually start and finish a job in one day.

Hey, that just gave me an idea. Anyone want some boys for a few days so I can, like, UNLOAD THE DISHWASHER, RE-LOAD IT, ADD SOAP, AND PRESS START all in one day?

Bless their hearts; those boys of mine.

Annnd backing it right back up.

So, this week Dave is cleaning carpets. Lots of them. As in, he is on his second 15 hour day.

And wow, I am in awe of this guy and his dedication to us. He works so hard. When he isn't at his full time job, he is usually serving/helping/ministering in some capacity.

Sometimes it isn't easy. And I'm not proud of this: sometimes I want him all to myself, and I find this selfish ugly wrap itself around my heart. So, my prayer has been that I would simply be the helper and encourager I was meant to be. It's an awesome thought that I can be a part of the process that God is actively involved in regarding Dave's heart and life. -That I can work in cooperation with God in encouraging him to be all that he was meant to be. I have seen God use him over and over. I have also recognized times that I have stood in the way of him being used by God, and I still shudder at that thought. I do not ever, EVER, want be a wall between this man and God. But I have to admit that keeping that perspective in amongst the crazy busy dailies of my life is tough.

I have to tell you a story. So, I went to the Center for Women retreat a couple of weeks ago. I get to go to the comfiest lodge for 24 hours with people who I work for and volunteer along side of at the Center. I get loved on, waited on, cooked for,  and All of Those Things. So sweet and refreshing.

Any time I am away for more than 2 or 3 hours, I know that I will be coming home to a trashed out house that is not in the same state I left it in. Just truth. {Five guys + me. It is what it is. I'm out numbered} So I was all psyching myself up for it, and praying on my way home. I knew there would be some dishes to wash and likely some clutter to manage. It was not lost on me that the boys were planning to put up our tree and decorate for Christmas while I was gone. I had not yet prepared a spot for the tree, nor really been ready for all of the decor to make an appearance, but I knew they would have a blast placing it all in odd and charming places throughout the house.

It was as I expected. Open bins, Christmas decor, tree, stuff where tree used to be stacked up and re-distributed. I climbed over a coffee table, and started looking for Dave. It took me a full 5 minutes to find him, but I finally did. In our upstairs hallway installing a large, rusty heat radiator. I knew that this was also an impending project, but I was not aware it would be in process this very weekend. While the boys were decorating. And All The Stuff was everywhere.

So, I did what any good, loving, respectful wife would do.

 I pouted. Big time.

And I didn't really even take the time to look at him. Like, really look at how hard he had been working. Look in those loving eyes. Those tired eyes. Dang, he probably experienced the inability to fill and start the dishwasher, so he went on to bigger and better things.

The guy had done a marathon project, that would be benefiting the entire family with more heat upstairs on this cold, cold {almost} winter.

I saw rust. And clutter. And coffee tables in the walk way.

He saw well fed, taken care of boys having a blast.
He saw a tree that I wanted up, finally up.
He saw the completion of a project that had been nagging him for a long time.
He saw warmth for the family he loved.

The next day I was relaying my dissatisfaction to a friend. And he nailed it. He said, "That man is a provider, everything he does is to provide for his family"

And wow, that has stuck with me. Seriously cured the pout.

I opened my eyes and every time I turned around he was meeting needs and providing. It may not be in my "love language" or in the order of my priorities. But I am so grateful for this provider I have been given. I don't think he knows how not to provide. It's innate and ingrained into who he is.

And yes, we had good talks about priorities and love languages and, you know, painting the rusty radiator. Big Stuff like that.

Right now, he's still at work. And I am warm and cozy in the home he is providing for us. Heating this house with wood is not a simple, fun hobby. It takes so much time, dedication, and work. This huge rusty radiator is just about the comfiest thing I've ever had in my house. You know, second to the guy who installed it. ;) Lucky me.

Blessed. Really, I am blessed. Love you, babe!

Breathing it in

It's busy and we keep moving

- busting here and there.

Rushing and bowling over every "good intention" that we have.

Sometimes we have to just stop.

Breathe.

I heard a simple phrase last year that comes back to me over and over again, especially when I am stressed: 

"Breathe in grace, breathe out grace."

So I stop, close my eyes, click my mind off… and I try it.

On the inhale  -

I imagine God himself smiling. And pouring this great big bucketful of grace into me; this earthen vessel so desperate to receive it. Things are pouring out of that bucket like

"I'm singing over you."

"I am equipping you, and have already equipped you."

"I love you, yes despite that. And that. And that too."

- And -

"Oh, do I have plans for you!"

"I had great things in mind for you before you were even born!"

"You don't have to do any of it on your own!"

"I will never leave you, not for a second."


So, in this count of three, I am breathing all of that it.


And it calms me.

Wow, I'm calm finally. And that feels good.


On the exhale, I turn.

Away from me.

Away from pity.

Away from frustration.

Because suddenly my eyes are open to things that previously were hidden in the busting and rushing and bowling.

I see needs, and they aren't my own.

I see faces. No, not just faces - I see eyes. 

Eyes that are tired or searching. Eyes brimming with unbidden tears. Just hanging on. Some eyes twinkling with hope.


And I think about people who have this gift. The gift of easily breathing in and out with grace in each second. It's not an effort, it's who they are.

We are all human and we all hit walls. I know that. But what a sweet thing to be able to see the people who radiate the grace, because they live it.


I could list so many right here. Those who have chosen time and again to walk in the Spirit, even when it made zero sense to their human minds. They have done it so much that with practice, it becomes


like breathing.

Is it tough? Oh yes. There are tears and exhaustion, and All of The Stuff.

But an underlying knowing that this is the life. The life you are called to is the best life there is.



For example, does it make sense to open your home, {your oasis, your private moments, your place to "get away from it all"} to children who will intrude upon all of that? Why would you put out fires you didn't start?

Well, if God asks you to do it, you do it. 

I went almost a year without seeing my sister, who is one of my best friends. Life was so busy, and due to distance, we just could not connect any closer than our phones {what would we do without texting and quick little phone calls, on the go?!}.

Over Thanksgiving vacation I got to do life with her for a few days.

My sister with her three energetic boys,

her 4 and 5 yr old foster boys,

and her brand new foster bebe boy.

Some one else's "fire".

{hello cute little fire, who stole my heart}

Why would anyone do the hard work? Who has the energy for that?



I guess you just have to breathe in grace so you can breathe it out.



Just thinking about them slows me down.


Inhale,

exhale,

open your eyes.

{November} 10 on the 10th

This is what 10 on 10 is all about: taking a photo every hour for ten consecutive hours on the tenth of each month, documenting a day in your life and finding beauty among the ordinary moments. 



Except that, once again, it isn't really 10 photos. :)

 I desperately needed a day of rest and taking a bunch of pictures in the middle of the day would have just been me, on the couch, with four crazies running around me. ;) 

Loading everyone up in the van to head to church, and noticing the beauty of fall around me.

Being taught, from this convicting passage. Good.

I love walking into my porch to the wonderful smell of apples. These apples are patiently waiting till I have time to make them into sauce (hold on little apples!)

So, this. 

Dave's going for Father Of The Year. He made a zipline for the boys…

The boys are so excited about starting "Abba's Choice" again. Four weeks of learning, exploring, and practicing some Christmas music, and then they get to perform on a Sunday morning, during church. My Noe (in the red plaid) looks so very serious, because finding any sort of rhythm takes a whole lot of concentration for this one. *smile*  He'll get it eventually. 

"shore" is big…

He's full of life,
like -  bursting with energy and excitement 
over everything he sees, feels, thinks, knows.


I think we all can learn from that kind of living. 

He loves chicken enchiladas, 
{You should hear him say it. Cuteness overload)

He's fierce, really.
So fierce about loving big,
grasping the greatness of everything he can -

and fierce about his way,
that stubborn set to the jaw
I know it all too well….

His heart is just huge,

and two weeks before his fourth birthday he invited Jesus to live inside of that bigness.
So good, and so genuine.

But yes, a heart still bent on its own way and in need of channeling,
training,
guiding,
loving to goodness.

{Alot like his mama}


He thinks everything through with a thoroughness that defies his age.

His questions are intelligent and they stop me often.


"Why do we have fingernails?"

"How old will we be in heaven?"

"If you aren't taking me out to eat because we don't have very much money, why do you have a Mac?"

Yeah. That's my little buddy.


And the Big Dreams. 
I hope they stay.
Because someday when you are an astronaut/fireman I will be your biggest fan. And yes, I'm sure there are fires on the moon. Reflecting that big ol' sun and all……


He keeps telling me He isn't my baby anymore.
And I can concede, and stop calling him "baby" {reality is, indeed, sinking in on that one}
But he has that thing that I have - the forever baby thing. 
He keeps telling me about ever-green trees.

"They are green for EVER mama!"

{You're kind of my ever-baby.
I know - not your fav - but it is what it is.}

He runs hard, plays hard, and crashes hard.
He is love, life, and laughter.
He is tough as nails and can be oh-so-unreasonable.

He has Jay's rebellious streak, Noe's meticulous perfectionism, and K's love for snuggling.
So much just him characteristics too. All Kai.
A uniqueness that God created inside of him.
We love it so much.

He's a Daniel Tiger fan.
Builds huge duplo towers, and flying tree houses.
Adores his brothers.
Tortures then well.
Holds his own in true youngest-of-four-boys style.
Has some sweet dance moves.
Thinks Daddy is where it's at (smart kid).
Still doesn't pronounce his "f's"correctly.

"I'm so excited to be turning shore!!"

"Can we make mushins mama?"

{I secretly hope that doesn't end anytime soon)


He shocks us with his eagerness to already sound words out
and write them on anything he can.
He is adding, subtracting, counting, alphabeting to his heart's content,
and telling us any bit of knowledge he has.

He is joy.


May your heart be ever drawn to your creator.

{True to His character, He did a fantastic job with you}

Happy "shore".

You kind of melt me.

{October} 10 on the 10th

This is what 10 on 10 is all about: taking a photo every hour for ten consecutive hours on the tenth of each month, documenting a day in your life and finding beauty among the ordinary moments. 

Got up after hitting snooze… roughly 3 times.Showered,loaded the van with All-The-Things (minus kitchen sink),got kidos up, breakfasted, off to school,

Mom2mom meal prep.

Gearing up for an hour work out

Errands. So many, many errands.

We should all have an errands buddy….

Over to the elementary school to recognize a very special first grade student of the month!

Finally going to see *home* again. With many little boys. :)

And we get to see him too. He's our favorite. Putting lot of hours into a special video presentation for the Center for Women's 25th anniversary banquet.

Special times with my fam.

Ending it on a cuddly/silly note.