" I listened, motionless and still;

 And, as I mounted up the hill, 

The music in my heart I bore, 

       Long after it was heard no more."

 ~William Wordsworth

This is where I spent some of last Sunday.  It's a beautiful old historic house that looks more like it should be found on an English countryside than tucked away five minutes from where we live, awaiting demolition. I loved wandering around wondering who had lived here and what stories it held. It was overgrown and gorgeous with a fragrant blanket of lily of the valley, my mom's favorite, covering one side. Naya made sure to gather a bouquet. The boys climbed rocks and explored little caves but the girls were content to walk with me and oblige my desire to try and capture some of the grace of this structure while it is still there. It felt good to be outside with my loves, to lay aside my agenda, my stresses, and distractions and take a moment to really see them. To quiet thoughts of chores undone and arguments and demands and to watch the way the sun fell on their faces, Harper's wild afro, the way she knelt to find wildflowers. 

"The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quite alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature. As longs as this exists, and it certainly always will, I know that then there will always be comfort for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances may be. And I firmly believe that nature brings solace in all troubles."

                                                                                                 ~Ann Frank (The Diary of a Young Girl)

The other day I read these lines and it reminded me again of why I love written words. There is something wonderful about feeling a connection that spans history and distance. I can't say I agree with everything she says here but I get what her heart felt.

For as long as I can remember when my soul was disquieted or sad, I would seek out some haven field or mountainside, some stretch of sky I could throw my arms around, somewhere to talk to Jesus, somewhere to sense  my own insignificance. Somewhere to feel small. I always found comfort being reminded of the vast incomprehensible nature of God, and my smallness in the shadow of His wings.

 This is the house. I wouldn't mind living here. A lovely place to spend mother's day with all my loves. They know me well. Hand-made cards and gathered flowers, picture taking, lunch outside, made my heart happy.

two

 

Our Harper bear turned two at the end of April. Many things don't get photographed and written about lately and that  is okay. Life is full of good things. Since I have always just used this space as a place to collect thanks, and praise, a place to remember things; I will continue as I am able, even if it is just a few images and words scattered haphazardly here and there.  

I can't believe we have had our baby for two whole years. I can't really put into words the joy he has brought to our home. He gives the best koala bear hugs and he makes us laugh all the time. His favorite thing is being outside and his animals and trucks. He seems to learn new words everyday and the kids love trying to expand his vocabulary. Most recently adorable is how he says, "pitty flowee," when he sees flowers.  He really likes praying with the family and won't quiet down until everyone is holding hands. He loves Juden. I can't really describe how that brother bond undoes me. Seeing the relationship between older children and a baby has been an incredible blessing. He is a force to be reckoned with and my, it's a wild age. We may have caused a few public ruckuses here and there.  Happy birthday little man. What a gift you are to us.

 

                
                 
                 
                      I once heard someone say, “Every beautiful thing begins with a willingness to suffer.”

                                                            
                                                         Motherhood is no exception.

     It is Sunday morning, Mother’s Day.  Harper is a whole two and a half weeks old.  My poor husband is burning up with a fever that he has had for the last three days.  The morning is going something like this:   Harper is fed and content in his swing, now to fix French toast for three hungry bears.   I check Josh’s temperature, 103 and climbing. I put a cool cloth on his head and try not to panic about the rest of us getting it.  I really need some tea but I can’t find a clean cup in the mess that has become my kitchen.  My thoughts are tired and disjointed, going from one worry and task to the next.  I carry laundry to the girls’ room where I can barely walk since they’ve made a floor covering of every book they own.  I pause for a moment and wonder, why do I keep DOING when I need to be resting and meditating on what the Lord wants from me today.  My thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of the girls fighting over a coloring book.  I mediate that situation and realize my shirt is half soaked in milk and my eyes are shadowed and heavy.  I am just barely in the shower when Harper starts to wail from his basket on the floor, and now the girls are coming in trying to help by pushing a pacifier into his screaming mouth.  There are now five people in our small bathroom and Ella says excitedly, “It’s like a bathroom party in here!”

     The baby wanted to get up about every hour last night and my soul is just longing for a little window of quiet.  The day goes downhill from here.  Josh’s fever won’t come down and now he is looking slightly yellow.  After a short discussion we decide a trip to the emergency room is in order.  The rhythm of our home is off with the papa out of commission and a very tired mama with a very new baby who just wants to nurse and snuggle all the time.  We’re in a funk and the kids’ attitudes are showing it and so is mine.  I’m pulling on my mantra from Lamentations 3:  “Because of the Lord’s great love, we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail.  His mercies are new every morning.  Great is Thy faithfulness.”

     How can I parent from a place of grace and love when my well seems so dry?  So I talk to Jesus, always.

     
      Later that night, the day has closed and quiet has fallen over my house full of sleeping children.  I thought of my husband lying in some hospital bed with his own mother by his side.  I sat in the garden with Harper.  We sat on the swing in the nighttime air with just garden lights and stars.  It smelled of damp earth and summer.  His tiny new fingers curled around my bottom lip and his just-seeing eyes looked up at me, this irresistible boy all balled up like he was still inside me.  My heart swelled with an indescribable love for this brand new life.  All I can think about is…this gift of mothering.  

     
I AM a mother, it is part of my story.  My body is shared space.  It is imprinted in my being that five other souls have taken form inside of me, one now in heaven and four others always by my side.  God allowed me to grow and nurture these wild, precious creatures, given to me but not mine.

     Pregnancy and giving birth is a physical symbol of all that will follow, the stretching, growing, the breaking, pain and joy entwined, the labor to bring forth life.  Then  grows  this bond that is like no other.  
       I will feed and clothe them and show them the ocean.  I’ll  read  them books and poems.  I’ll tell them the names of the trees and birds and play them my favorite records.  I’ll help shape and nurture them and tell them who Jesus is.  I’ll take a million pictures and watch them grow faster than my heart can catch up with. I will pray over them when their heart is breaking. I will fail them again and again.  My sin will wound them and I will say I’m sorry, sometimes daily.  With body and soul, I will do the work of loving with the mighty Rock of Christ upholding me.  I cling to Isaiah 70:11: 
 “He shall feed His flock like a shepherd:  He shall gather the lambs with His arms, and carry them in His bosom; He will gently lead those that are with young.”  
What a promise!  It is not about how well I do as a mother, thank God!  It is learning to surrender to my Father, who will guide and lead me in grace.  Being a mother is not glamorous or easy; but it is real, human, deep and rich, and it is a gift every day that I’m entrusted with these little people.  I am poured out, depleted, yet my cup runs over.  I am terrified, yet undone by the beauty.  It is the hardest thing I have ever done and yet far better than anything I could have thought up.  I am needed every moment yet carried by a Father who adopted me and whose love I can never exhaust. 

     I’m so thankful for my children. They have helped me become more of who I am in Christ, and have shown me a clearer picture of my own broken, mess of a heart.

     

I am so thankful for my own mother.  She is amazing and was my first teacher.  Where would I be without her?

     

      
There is one more thing I want to say.  It takes a village, no?  My value as a woman is not that I am a mother;  but that I am a child of God, trying to live out His calling for me. 
      If you have had life inside your body at any point whether that child was ever born or not, than you are a mother. If you have adopted life or given a life for adoption -- you are a mother.  If you have been an advocate for children, if you have loved the helpless, nurtured them, listened to them --  then  you have mothered little ones that are precious in the sight of God.  If you have had to be a mother to aging parents, lost a child or are anticipating the beginning of your journey, if your mother is no longer with you -- may the grace and peace of God rest on you today.  If you have ever mothered another person, given your heart, time and love to children --today we honor you and say thank you and keep going.

" Inside the frames, the bodies, the souls of our children, reside the children still to come. And the children then still to come. Like nestled dolls, future generations dwell within the child whose eyes I now look into, whose hands I touch. Every day we parent not one child, or even a few children, but every day we parent innumerable, countless children. When I raise my voice, frustrated with a child, I speak to generations of children. When I wipe away a tear, comfort, listen, I honor centuries of children. When we meet our children, children we will not live to meet on this earth, are met, shaped, formed, parented."
   ~Ann Voskamp~
         

(Last year I was asked to share at my church on Mother's Day.  I read from a blog post I wrote the year before. Some of this is re-posted from then.)                                                                                                        

ordinary

It was Friday. I was peeling carrots at the sink.  To her, there is always music playing or she makes her own.  I turned to see the last rays of sun streaming across the floor and this girl twirling and spinning.   She said "Watch me mommy!" And she danced and danced.

today

We've been learning about Indians and early American history.  I love watching how all those stories feed little imaginations. The sun was shining today so it was time to build teepees and live like Indians. One more reason I'm loving home schooling is more time to imagine, build and play.

letters

To Naya Faith- on the day you turned 6,
You, sweet daughter, are starlight and summer breezes, you are the scent of meadows in sunshine, you are stubborn, wild and pure, dark-eyed curious, unruly wisps framing a  face like a painting.  You are joy to my days from the moment you tumble into my bed in the morning full of chatter and wiggles to the way you beg for just one more kiss at night.  You are graceful and always dancing and singing. I hope you will never be afraid to sing your heart out and dance when your body wants to move. You are rarely quiet. You are learning to read and everything seems to be clicking all at once and it's amazing to be your teacher.  You are belly laughs and endless questions. I heard somewhere that five year olds ask a hundred questions a day. I believe it. Although they sometimes get lost in the noise of home, I try as I am able to listen to you always.  As I sat trying to be attentive and answer your questions I marveled at all that was spinning in your head. "Mama, where do colors come from?", "What is heaven like?", "Why can't  I see Jesus?", "Can we go to Nana's house?", "Can I have a birdie?", "Can we have two more girl babies?", "When can I see Nora again?", "Can she come to my birthday party?", "Why are people different colors?" And on and on it went as I tried to answer the best I could and this was one car ride!

My little girl, what a journey you have ahead of you! Is it strange that I still can't believe sometimes, that God gave me you. What a gift and honor to be the one who gets to love and guide you.
Being a little girl in this old world is hard. Becoming a woman in this world is even harder.

I was that little girl, all barefoot, dancing, big wheels, fairies and crayons. I grew into that girl who noticed everything, who got stung by flippant words, who learned not to trust, who felt not good enough, who wished sometimes to just disappear,  who didn't realize that Jesus loved me and rejoiced over me with singing.



Naya, this old world, it's gonna hurt you. You won't escape sins' arrows. They will rip and wound you, and make you braver and stronger in their wake. Darling, whatever your story holds,  know this; you are not what you do, what you accomplish, what you look like, what mistakes you will make or what anyone else may choose to say about you someday. Those are all just little parts that make up your story.

The real story is this. You were knit together by the loving hands of the God who sets the all the planets spinning in place.  You are a precious, fearfully and wonderfully made creature, adopted by Christ and named His daughter.  The day you turned five, you had your real birthday. It was an amazing day. Here you are on that day.



When we were out together just you and me, you asked me if you could pray to ask Jesus to come into your heart. We talked about this verse, "He saved us and called us with a holy calling, not according to our own accomplishments, but according to his own purpose and the grace that was given to us in the Messiah Jesus before time began."  

We talked about how he forgives us for our sins and how his love is deeper and wider than the ocean. You prayed a simple prayer and I rejoiced in a way I can't really describe. He is making you something new. You can do nothing to earn his love. And whatever the worst things are that you could do,  he will never ever love you any less.  His grace sets you free. With that said though, seek after his heart and let him guide your choices.   When Jesus hung dying on that cross, he had you on his heart. That alone is your worth.  He gave you to us and we will do our best to help you know the wonder of childhood and awakening to the world around you and we will love and pray for you as your experiences, both good and bad broaden your understanding of the world. Who you really are will show when everyone you are with is belittling someone else, it will show in what you do in the midst of injustice,  how you respond to the hurting,  if you are willing to be a servant, what you do with what you've been given, what you do when someone you love tears you all the way down, and how you love those around you.  

For now, you are a wild mess of knee socks, braids, skinned knees and tu-tus. The sacred and mundane weave their way through our days. You whine and stomp your feet, and watch stars, dream and pray.  We struggle and thrive and grow. You draw me piles of pictures of rainbows and flowers. You bring me fistfuls of little wilty flowers when you run inside breathless and flushed.  You have endless energy and endless questions that are becoming increasingly thoughtful and complicated. You are full of mischeif, wonder, laughter and curiosity. You are a treasure to me every day of these six years and always.

Love,
mama

so far

These are some of the things I want to remember about a month that is flying by.
*This little lady, turning six.


*Turning thirty five.
 It some ways it doesn't seem possible. I've gone through some hard things in my thirties but I have also had a growing sense of freedom and confidence in who I am as a daughter of Christ, and my worth as his creation.
 "The truth is, part of me is every age. I’m a three-year-old, I’m a five-year-old, I’m a thirty-seven-year-old, I’m a fifty-year-old.  I’ve been through all of them, and I know what it’s like. I delight in being a child when it’s appropriate to be a child. I delight in being a wise old man when it’s appropriate to be a wise old man. Think of all I can be! I am every age, up to my own." 
— Mitch Albom

 A friend shared this quote and I can identify with it. It speaks of one of the gifts that comes with getting older. My kids help make it easy to be the girl child, to find joy and wonder in simple things, although I never really lost that quality. But my ever increasing well of experiences  helps me to be able to understand people and be compassionate. I'm looking forward to what this year will hold. Josh took the day off and we trekked around the mountain we met on. We sat on a bluff and talked forever. It was the best gift.

*Birthday card which I loved.

* Homeschooling!
 We are getting into more of a groove with homeschooling, I think. Some days it flows naturally and is inspiring and I am excited to see the connections they're making.

...and other days it looks like this.

 On this day we left valentines until the last minute, and a certain someone was making his disdain for math and grammar known, and yes, that may be a crazy toddler being chased around the table.  Some days it's chaotic and my soul craves quiet. I knew there would be hard days too, but I am learning with them and we are praying through the difficulties. Just when I feel almost depleted I am reminded how blessed I am to be doing what I am doing.

A few more favorite things... 

*the feel of my boys' warmth on me and the moments of still and calm it brings.
* my boys laughing in the tub last night when Juden said, "Harper is the joy of my heart."  Amazed by brother bonds.
* A weekend bike ride with the whole family.
* Harper's first snow, brief and beautiful, snow covered Quince.