tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340772362024-03-06T22:13:53.469-08:00being greenlindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.comBlogger366125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-29131659950442042422014-04-07T16:32:00.001-07:002014-04-07T19:17:05.328-07:00the day you came.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Just like that, after all the waiting, praying and wondering, you came. On a day when snow fell on new blossoms and the skies were dark and stormy and then clear and bright, you arrived, perfect, pink and new, full of promise and into so much love. Welcome to the world Colin Locksley. You are loved.</div>
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<br />lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-90761853966687567332014-03-04T06:20:00.000-08:002014-03-04T11:25:25.674-08:00On Turning Ten<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Juden turned 10; an entire decade of life with this son of my heart. I must admit at some point that day I read Billy Collins' poem, On Turning Ten, and got a lump in my throat. It's been said a thousand times but I really get a little sucker punched every now and then with how quickly he is changing. Suddenly tall and all limbs and with a soul ever waking to bigger ideas. I write and photograph them on their birthday just to mark this time and to remember. We had a small family birthday party this year with one friend Lulu, who has been like family since birth. We paused for a few moments for people to offer prayers of blessing on his life and my heart hurt with gratitude for his life and joy. He went climbing at a climbing gym and had a date with me which turned out a little rainy but still included beating me at air hockey, an adorable dance in the rain, and yummy desserts. He was celebrated in true fashion and pretty much smothered in little sibling and cousin love. </div>
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To Juden,</div>
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The other night I decided to put daddy's little tent that housed him all through Europe in your room. You LOVE to read, which to this book loving mama, makes my heart giddy. You would read for hours at night if I let you. When I come in to kiss you before I go to sleep sometimes it's hard to find you because you have this habit of surrounding your whole self with pillows and blankets like you are in a nest. You've told me more than once that you wish your name was Sparrow. You looked so cozy in there with your stack of books, comics and flashlight that I grabbed my book and climbed in the tent with you. We took turns reading our books to each other and chatting in between. You love being the big brother and I love watching you grow in this role. I have to be careful to remind Ella that she doesn't have to do everything you tell her to. You seem to enjoy the fact that she would pretty much follow you anywhere. Naya, on the other hand, gives you a run for your money and doesn't really want anyone to be her boss. I don't know what you guys would all do without each other. I decided to ask you some questions most of which I already know the answer to but here it is so you can remember your newly ten year old self. </div>
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Me: What do you want to be when you grow up? </div>
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Juden: An author, and artist and a cartoonist. </div>
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Me: Where would you most like to go and why? </div>
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Juden: I think Europe because it just looks beautiful and I could have adventures.</div>
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Me: Who are your favorite authors? </div>
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Juden: C.S. Lewis, Charles Dickens and Tolkien</div>
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Me: What is your favorite music? </div>
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Juden: Infradig, The Distribution, Josh Garrels and Bombay Dub Orchestra</div>
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Me: Who are your heroes?</div>
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Juden: C. S. Lewis, and dad and you. </div>
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Me: What would a really good day look like to you? </div>
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Juden: Going to Mckay bookstore and drawing and going outside.</div>
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I love how you think. You are pretty high energy at times your mind and body going a mile a minute but you are also really sensitive and think about things deeply. You love playing with Harper and you wind him up like a little puppy. Your sketch books can hardly contain all your drawings which are comic-inspired a lot lately. You love building things, whittling, riding your bike, soccer, and you love being with friends. </div>
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As I reflect on this last decade, to the time that I was ushered into motherhood with the presence of your tiny wailing self. It was terrifying and unadulterated love all at once. You have been one of the deepest sources of joy in all my life. And oh how we have grown together. We have been through so many firsts, so many phases, trains, planes, pirates, Star Wars, Narnia, Lord of the Rings. You are a passionate little person, head strong, stubborn, sweet and hilarious. You are in love with life and God and family. So many prayers I have stormed heaven with on your behalf from before you were even born that I know will echo through heaven for eternity. I can't wait to see the plans our God has for you. I reflect on the time you fell when you were two, and the time daddy and I stood by with tears and worry when you were eight and having bleeding that we couldn't figure out. So many reminders that you are not really ours but God's, entrusted to us. I wonder about this next decade. What things it may hold for you. It's overwhelming sometimes navigating being your mama, knowing that I will fail you and hurt you and trusting God with the challenges of knowing how to help you become a man of honor. I am thankful that the God who parents me and daddy is holding you and is merciful. I pray you will continue to grow with such vibrancy and joy and that you will follow hard after your maker. I love you so fiercely my precious son.</div>
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I feel like where ever you are is my favorite stage because it's so fun watching you become, but every once in awhile I miss this little guy too.</div>
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lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-38666624793115394982014-02-20T18:53:00.000-08:002014-02-20T18:55:58.129-08:00the shape of days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There has been quite a bit of silence in this space so it seemed time to break it. February is our birthday-full month, so I have some catching up on posts to do but for now, a testament to the reason for less posts around here. Since I began homeschooling all of the kids, there are certain other things I have less time and energy for. I do miss the simple fleshing out, in a few sentences or photos, the stories of these days and how they thread together into months and years that are ever tumbling forward. Truth be told, there some days that are just hard, when I am not quite enough to go around or Harper needs more attention. I may or may not occasionally fantasize about a big yellow bus coming and the house being very quiet:) But mostly I want to remain very present in this place and time that God has led me to. I love spending these days with all of my kids, starting our days cooking breakfast together and listening to Ella read our devotions. We are learning and growing together and it is good, not always easy, but good. I am blessed that more than the bickering, which certainly comes, they are forming strong bonds with each other and that is a beautiful thing to watch. We had a trying day so yesterday we decided to have school at the Nature Center nearby. Sometimes we just need to switch things up. We read, sketched, explored and drank in the air that hinted of spring. We listened to song birds and collected treasures. The wind, water and sky refreshed my spirit and helped me to really see my kids and join them in the wonder that comes with being small.</div>
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<br />lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-54920904250957696502013-10-04T18:35:00.000-07:002013-10-04T18:35:27.357-07:00Friday loves<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There was a lot in this week I want to let go of. These are the things I want to hold on to...</div>
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this man, covered in our babies,<br />
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this moment when I breathe in everything about your tiny self and drink in the sound of your joy...<br />
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the shape of her, the light on her face the quiet of her thoughts...<br />
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taking a break from school for a little while to make flower wreaths for my fairy girls...<br />
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Not a single day will pass that I will not breathe out thanks to the one who gives every good thing.lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-49155759562671868082013-09-25T21:45:00.000-07:002013-09-26T08:47:49.876-07:00Light<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Nights like this remind me why I love the camera. Because tiny, pudgy fingers are learning to take in the world around them. Because you focus on the strong veined arms of the daddy around tiny laughing bodies. Because the light is golden on the fields and it rests soft on the way they look at each other. Because when you're a mama, no matter how naughty or exhausting they have been, at the end of the day, you can't help slipping in their room to watch them sleep and wondering how you ever got so blessed. Because there is something holy in the bond of family. Because I can see my little brother as a man he has become and see his cheeky, impish ways in his little boys. Because it all doesn't last for long and sometimes you want to hold on.<br />
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lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-69518272334636164012013-09-11T21:09:00.000-07:002013-09-12T07:36:43.223-07:00September in our corner...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=34077236" style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack."</i></span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=34077236" style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> ~ D.H. Lawrence </span></a><br />
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Last night as we sat down to pray together with the kids. I wasn't feeling prayerful or focused. I was a little depleted and disappointed in my lack of patience and frustration. Too many scattered thoughts and unfinished jobs. An older friend spoke of this season of raising small children, in her own life, as feeling fragmented. It resonated with me. I feel it too at times, all the things that you just can't get to, the many needs at every turn. That feeling like I can never be quite enough. That deep longing for sanctuary, for solitude. And then there are those things I always thought I'd do... study photography, adopt, advocate for children, go to India and Uganda, serve the least of these, all these deep desires that are still there but seem out of reach. At times I wonder if I am really doing anything well. Am I really serving in the ways God tells me too? Are my days ordered by Him? I want to be His vessel, His hands and feet while I am here but can I do that in my little home, in this place I am in?</div>
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As I look back at old prayer journals I asked God to help me love what He loves and hate what He hates, that He would let my heart break over what breaks His. I have seen Him answering this prayer in increasing measures and for that I am thankful. But what do I do with headlines that turn my stomach and make me shudder, that haunt me when I'm reading Goodnight Moon or telling my daughter not to be afraid in the storms? </div>
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How can I feast on plenty while sisters around the globe watch their own babies bellies swell? </div>
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I erupt with joy at each new phrase sweetly spoken by my toddlers lip's. I cup his soft face in my hands and drink in those holy moments. Somewhere else on this beautiful spinning planet Syrian mothers become numb when daughters and husbands and sons are murdered.</div>
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My heart breaks.</div>
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I wait for the moment when my husband walks through the door and into my arms while the wife and children of Pastor <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=cfBeRICdCcU#t=14">Saeed Abedini </a>continue to hear of his unlawful imprisonment and torture. </div>
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My heart breaks. </div>
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I watch my girls laugh and dance through the grass in the long shadows of the afternoon and I ache for the beauty.</div>
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But someone else's little girl is sold as a sex slave, raped, treated like trash, and I tuck my precious girls in, to the sounds of soft music. Who hears their wailing?</div>
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My heart breaks.</div>
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I watch the wonder of new blooms of cosmos and lilies and marvel at the intricacy of moth wings while today many remember the last time they saw their loved ones lost in New York City this day twelve years ago? </div>
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Sometimes it feels like sacrilege. The disparity haunts me. How can life and humanity be simultaneously so heinous and sorrowful, beautiful and joyful. I am undone by my blessing and grieved by the suffering of so many around the world. </div>
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A friend of mine wrote this today:</div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">"On this day, as we remember so many lives tragically lost on our own soil, let's also remember that for many families across the globe, this awful sense of tremendous and sudden loss is a daily horror. For many forgotten and unseen people, the sting of death has become a close friend. Even today, my beloved Nigeria bleeds. Over 600,000 Syrians have fled their homes, their families, their lives. War, famine, floods...</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: center;">We are not alone in our grief. As we remember what happened on 9/11/01, please...say a prayer for the millions of other beautiful souls sharing our planet whose "9/11" is happening right now."</span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I leave this full, tattered, thankful, burdened, broken heart at the foot of the cross; for where else can I go? I leave it there, with Him who is well acquainted with sorrows, who entered this bloody war-torn skin of ours to embody love. I look to the hills from whence cometh my help. I lift up the sufferers to his throne. I share their grief, it has become this well inside me. I join my tears with theirs. My joys are held up to the light of what will one day be.</span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 24px;"> </span></span></h1>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small; text-align: center;">I stilled my heavy soul and listened to my daughter pray and here is some of what she said, </span></h1>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="text-align: center;">"Dear God, Thank you for my body and how wonderful it works, and that is a sanctuary that you live in. God, can you please control my heart? And God can you please help the people that have to go through really hard things in the world. Can you help to heal them. Jesus I am sorry for the sins that I do. Can you forgive me and can you take them away with your arms?....</span><span style="text-align: center;">Can you spread open my heart with your love. God can you help me to be a good author when I grow up and a pastor. I love you forever and more."</span></span></h1>
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Her child's heart spoke so deeply that tears fell at her words. Tears of relief at His mercy, of hearing what my own soul couldn't voice just then. No matter how short I may fall or how many times I have to say I'm sorry, God is so faithful. I listened as she spilled out her heart just like she was sitting with a trusted friend and I was overwhelmed by how he covers us in His grace. </div>
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I will dwell on His promises. </div>
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I will hope in Him. </div>
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I long for His glory to be made full in my heart and to all nations. </div>
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"Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord." ~Psalm 27:14</div>
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"Do not be afraid, for I am with you."~ Isaiah 43:5</div>
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"I will turn their morning into joy, and will comfort them, and make them rejoice from their sorrow."~Jeremiah 31:13</div>
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"My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest."~Exodus 33:14</div>
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<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;">"</span><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;">"</span><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will no longer exist; grief, crying, and pain will exist no longer, because the previous things have passed away</b></span></span><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;">."~ Revelation 21:4</span></div>
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<br />lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-1695799992204551642013-08-22T11:02:00.000-07:002013-08-22T11:02:09.102-07:00Summer is for blueberry picking.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We went a little too early this year and so we had to reach and work to get our bucket full of ripe plump berries. Harper also liked to eat every berry we picked of course or feed them to his buddy. I love this tradition, being with friends, seeing where our food comes from, returning home and making a blueberry bramble. And we can't forget a reading of this old favorite...</div>
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<br />lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-57145352721613148472013-08-21T20:47:00.000-07:002013-08-22T10:15:45.834-07:00letters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For my Ella who is now eight;<br />
"Is it gonna storm mama?" You asked with a furrow in your brow. "I don't think so but if it does I will be with you." I said as I stuffed towels and water bottles in the backpack. We piled into the van headed for our favorite swimming hole. We stepped through the mossy forest floor, past fiddle heads and ferns and everything in me calmed with the cool green landscape, trees stretched against sky, just the sound of water over rocks and your chatter and play. We were made for this, to glory in the earth scent and deep blue sky, to feel the warmth on our freckled summer skin. It is everything summer and carefree, swimming through clear green pools, we built rock towers and collected treasures, layed on our backs and picked m&m's out of the trail mix.<br />
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At some point I noticed the dark clouds roll in and your face turn to worry. Storms are a big fear for you. The rain started gently with just a low rumble of thunder in the distance. We grabbed our towels and ran to the shelter of a big rock overhanging. We huddled close and sang and watched the rain. The thunder came and went and when it came close your tears welled up and daddy held you and comforted you. You looked small in his arms. It made me think about someone I listened to recently who spoke about when Jesus was in the boat with his friends. The storm raged and they were gripped with fear. All He did was speak and the waves and winds obeyed and became still. Can you imagine? A raging storm turned to perfect calm in an instant. In life God doesn't always calm the storm. He doesn't always make everything okay despite all the well intentioned platitudes you may hear. But it has to be enough that we are in the boat with Jesus. He never leaves us alone to face our storms. He is with us always, our strength and comfort, our never failing anchor.<br />
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The storm passed and the sun returned along with your smile. I will forever treasure this day with you.<br />
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I see you sweet daughter, growing thoughtful and wiser as the days pass. There is a lot I understand about you. You are a noticer. You observe with eyes and heart and see things that others miss in your own quiet way. Your current career aspiration is to be an author and illustrator. Although I know that this changes quickly, it does really capture your eight-year-old self. You love making books. You spend hours carefully telling stories and drawing and you love making them for people. I think I will need a separate chest for the kind letters, cards and books you create that I can't part with. You don't always speak a lot of words but you speak volumes with your pencils and paints. The other day I found this tucked in some of your drawings...<br />
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I felt myself say "Thank you Jesus," for the heart of a child. You are good at doing this. You are full of wonder and curiosity. Never lose that. Goodness, life has so much joy and beauty to uncover. How do so many of us, as we grow up lose our way? Truth be told my darling, it will get harder. You will see that the world can be a dark place and you will not escape sorrows and struggles; none of us do. When those days come and the world feels harsh and lonely, know this; you were made for another. Always, always, look and seek for God and His glory and you <b>will</b> find it. That is my prayer for you. Learn to love His Word and know that you are His daughter, adopted, forgiven and more loved than you can imagine. His ways bring a deeper fulfillment and joy than all the lies that want to sell you false happiness. Never ever let people's opinions, or what you see in the mirror or your accomplishments define you. You were known to God before you were ever born and He holds you always. Let him shape your heart to echo His. The most beautiful you will ever be is when you are serving and loving others. Try to truly see people. Every person is a masterpiece of God's design; be compassionate always. Read books, and create and dance and build and laugh until it hurts. Love deeply without reserve. Find the things that make you feel the most alive and do them for God's glory. Listen for his voice in life.<br />
Ella, your name means light and you are certainly that. Your presence brings light to our hearts. Don't be afraid to give your light to others. I am so proud of the things I see God growing in your tender spirit already. Some things I love about you: how you are always singing, beat-boxing, dancing, how you can't get enough of bunnies, your stories and art, your dimple, your clear green-blue eyes, the freckle on the end of your nose, your kindness, how no one cries alone if you are with them, your silliness, your ability to notice everything around you. Such a gift you are to me precious one.<br />
Love,<br />
mama<br />
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We are checking things off of our list as summer pushes on. Trying to squeeze every last drop of these long days before the school year begins. A few days ago we took our annual trip to Lake Winnie. It was a pretty perfect day of watching my loves laugh and have fun, more big kid rides, the smell of chlorine, water slides that made me feel twelve again, riding the ferris wheel with Juden, a traumatic log flume ride for Ella, funnel cake, crazy mirrors, and swings. </div>
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<br />lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-35718867840215016012013-05-20T19:34:00.000-07:002013-05-20T19:43:53.515-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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" I listened, motionless and still;</div>
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And, as I mounted up the hill, </div>
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The music in my heart I bore, </div>
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Long after it was heard no more."</div>
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~William Wordsworth</div>
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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. </div>
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">"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."</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"> ~Ann Frank (The Diary of a Young Girl)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">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.</span></div>
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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.<br />
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<br />lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-30107914152090619322013-05-08T11:46:00.000-07:002013-05-08T11:46:07.448-07:00two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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. </div>
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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.</div>
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<br />lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-75743759658923789212013-05-07T12:49:00.000-07:002014-05-10T12:05:24.817-07:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I
once heard someone say, “Every beautiful thing begins with a willingness to
suffer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Motherhood is no exception.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> It is Sunday
morning... Mother’s Day. My brand new son, Harper, is a whole
two and a half weeks old. My husband is burning up with a fever that he has had for the last three days. The morning thus far, is going something like
this: Harper is fed and content rocking in his
swing, now to fix french toast for my other three hungry bears. They are a happy, sticky mess. 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 feel like a machine set in motion and sense that I need to be resting
and meditating on what the Lord wants from me today. My thoughts are interrupted by the shrieks of
the girls fighting over a coloring book.
I mediate that situation and glance at the mirror as I pass. My hair is a messy bun, 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!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> 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.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> How can I parent
from a place of grace and love when my well seems so dry? So I talk to Jesus, always.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> 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. The smell of damp earth and summer is intoxicating. 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. We sit for awhile and I revel in his smell and this tiny moment in space and time. I drink in the steady rythymn of his breaths on my neck. My heart swells with an indescribable love
for this brand new life. All I can think
about is…this gift of mothering. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDyX2Ph2zKR6hWk6twtG6B2DB_KA48_Op-izc3xGMvF1nkCm3dKRDvBYohAJixJzYeQksdP487wXsDBFVNmbQI-kgsTF5pe5ZGH1Pcww2mpAVkNzD3QYDD1JQAlLJSZoPfGf-Y/s1600/6503534703_c1718171df_b-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDyX2Ph2zKR6hWk6twtG6B2DB_KA48_Op-izc3xGMvF1nkCm3dKRDvBYohAJixJzYeQksdP487wXsDBFVNmbQI-kgsTF5pe5ZGH1Pcww2mpAVkNzD3QYDD1JQAlLJSZoPfGf-Y/s640/6503534703_c1718171df_b-001.jpg" height="640" width="425" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Being a mom... it
is part of my story. 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> 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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> 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: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “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.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">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 <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">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. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I am so thankful
for my own mother. She is amazing and
was my first teacher. Where would I be
without her?</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipWKbeSiQRcjNMz0epahtmpUeCMrNnU-R3aHn4x2FvPRVnsckCezyzHGTrgld1QeKWqYGFCmRHow3lHfZnnAfnToVa38eoWGwsAjCEIvsTJjyJtj2PCSQBnXYTNSbW2MSsOdzs/s1600/6469132775_943f70227b_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipWKbeSiQRcjNMz0epahtmpUeCMrNnU-R3aHn4x2FvPRVnsckCezyzHGTrgld1QeKWqYGFCmRHow3lHfZnnAfnToVa38eoWGwsAjCEIvsTJjyJtj2PCSQBnXYTNSbW2MSsOdzs/s640/6469132775_943f70227b_o.jpg" height="640" width="524" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> 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, to all of you brave, warrior souls who take the risk of giving your heart, time and
love to children --today we honor you and say thank you and keep going.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8x8K7B0Jjrn8wJDssjj-bm2UfsJ-OVEjp-OKxecxyEtaJstF60FsM0h9AlO0-HXlKV7IefXpcRQkGH7wJUSqP2Ub17EIzIlXFtdXr2ICjyumhLtPPCd9P2ZgFNtjunp7Os6Z/s1600/6504764547_c3ec734df6_b-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8x8K7B0Jjrn8wJDssjj-bm2UfsJ-OVEjp-OKxecxyEtaJstF60FsM0h9AlO0-HXlKV7IefXpcRQkGH7wJUSqP2Ub17EIzIlXFtdXr2ICjyumhLtPPCd9P2ZgFNtjunp7Os6Z/s400/6504764547_c3ec734df6_b-001.jpg" height="291" width="400" /></a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">" 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."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> ~Ann Voskamp~</span><br />
<br />
<div>
<i>(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.)</i> </div>
lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-83415551281167546002013-03-20T19:02:00.000-07:002013-03-20T21:14:15.900-07:00ordinary<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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<br />lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-55495648813849412192013-03-06T14:15:00.000-08:002013-03-06T17:26:58.827-08:00letters<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrN3XdRlh1cB3JSCnKIniamC-DLkYjRYkDpGkLMXPaCmN6iZRC7z0yHlERTMaaiDq2cWLoLUR_pZoBOVyVdqdsN87QkuP3uMhivLXaoAimQNYs5hmu7kHrNI1v-E1RvmnnLJwm/s1600/IMG_4894.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrN3XdRlh1cB3JSCnKIniamC-DLkYjRYkDpGkLMXPaCmN6iZRC7z0yHlERTMaaiDq2cWLoLUR_pZoBOVyVdqdsN87QkuP3uMhivLXaoAimQNYs5hmu7kHrNI1v-E1RvmnnLJwm/s640/IMG_4894.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
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To Naya Faith- on the day you turned 6,<br />
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!<br />
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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. <br />
Being a little girl in this old world is hard. Becoming a woman in this world is even harder.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <b>not</b> 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.<br />
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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 <b>real</b> birthday. It was an amazing day. Here you are on that day.<br />
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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, "<span style="background-color: #fffefd; color: #001320; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: justify;">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." </span><br />
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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. </div>
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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.</div>
Love,<br />
mama<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrJi16uRZvA08OnUUMxjTIELeWY3sW_fJAdiq2wYxLvpk1NlrvvnK8n5uVqyUcau5_cem-07Llz6MR6OkSbwnn-2IfaCF-pL8B6BU0DqPF-4UUdmNCo7xp_LnNe37CM5CZ4QC7/s1600/IMG_4883.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrJi16uRZvA08OnUUMxjTIELeWY3sW_fJAdiq2wYxLvpk1NlrvvnK8n5uVqyUcau5_cem-07Llz6MR6OkSbwnn-2IfaCF-pL8B6BU0DqPF-4UUdmNCo7xp_LnNe37CM5CZ4QC7/s640/IMG_4883.jpg" width="426" /></a>lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-60590001242365828672013-02-26T20:23:00.000-08:002013-02-26T20:23:16.853-08:00so far<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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These are some of the things I want to remember about a month that is flying by.<br />
*This little lady, turning six.<br />
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*Turning thirty five.<br />
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.<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">"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."</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">— </span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/2331.Mitch_Albom" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: initial;" title="Mitch Albom quotes">Mitch Albom</a><br />
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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.<br />
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*Birthday card which I loved.</div>
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* Homeschooling!<br />
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.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEc08y8-G3sfnvN0vQOIt1Ws008aMn_H_lrgDtI6ZGHULUZ_6QzDQt-p5dGSjI8Xz_oGclTNIE8QzTZNSfaXmYqAgQPw61OHPv-BKYRffhPgkHHXgsZxZoqpIaikS7FjTASys/s1600/January+13+168-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEc08y8-G3sfnvN0vQOIt1Ws008aMn_H_lrgDtI6ZGHULUZ_6QzDQt-p5dGSjI8Xz_oGclTNIE8QzTZNSfaXmYqAgQPw61OHPv-BKYRffhPgkHHXgsZxZoqpIaikS7FjTASys/s640/January+13+168-001.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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...and other days it looks like this.<br />
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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.<br />
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A few more favorite things...<span style="text-align: center;"> </span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">*the feel of my boys' warmth on me and the moments of still and calm it brings.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">* my boys laughing in the tub last night when Juden said, "Harper is the joy of my heart." Amazed by brother bonds.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">* A weekend bike ride with the whole family.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;">* Harper's first snow, brief and beautiful, snow covered Quince.</span><br />
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lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-79819610989136071982013-02-12T12:14:00.000-08:002013-02-12T15:45:55.269-08:00letters <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-dBD2zH_BG9JfiOt9l58cbCWLwWaAyBPOFY1HkFMQcTemGhpgfTKQMFqXUQSZGyUx_zxDEE1hMgYVk4lzi3lFIWupcGIM0EaOWG3miUIftjEP7mtfQjJRGNuQvamfStRUK38/s1600/February+13+367-002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-dBD2zH_BG9JfiOt9l58cbCWLwWaAyBPOFY1HkFMQcTemGhpgfTKQMFqXUQSZGyUx_zxDEE1hMgYVk4lzi3lFIWupcGIM0EaOWG3miUIftjEP7mtfQjJRGNuQvamfStRUK38/s640/February+13+367-002.jpg" width="422" /></a><br />
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Dear Juden~on your ninth birthday,<br />
I am hoping these letters will help us remember your story, unfolding so fast before my eyes. Eight has been a wonderful year and one of so many changes. You love reading; pretty much anything but especially comics and the Lord of the Rings series with your dad. It is one of my favorite sights, peeking in your room at night with you laying on his back, both of you engrossed in tales of Middle earth battles and brave heroes. The other day we took you to the movies and during a scary scene you asked to sit on my lap. Your long legs draped over mine and I could feel your heart beat through your small frame. I remembered sitting in a movie theater with you when you were so tiny, curled in a ball on my chest sleeping through the whole thing. I felt so thankful that for now, you are not too big to sit on my lap and that you still feel a little safer in my arms. It's been a big year for you though, lots of strides toward more independence and me learning to loosen my grip a bit. Since you are my first, we have navigated so many firsts together and we will continue to. I'm praying for grace that we will learn together and that we'll trust in our Father to carry us through the hard and rocky places. I am thankful for the heart God is shaping in you. You are wild and stubborn, creative and full of ideas. You draw constantly, you are taking after your papa on the bike and you love to spend time in your room with your nose in books, building Lego's and always listening to music. You spend a lot of time outside and run home sweaty, scratched and bruised some days from playing so hard. You are a good friend and a good brother. You have a unique bond with Harper that brings me so much joy. Maybe because you prayed so earnestly for a brother... I don't know but you just love him. He climbs into your lap or onto your back every chance he gets. You are so gentle and patient with him.<br />
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I asked you where you would like to go on our date and again you chose the local English Tea room. It made me smile that you are definitely not the typical nine year old boy. You love the tradition of it and the food. You drank about four cups of tea and I listened to you talk about all sorts of things. I told you the story of the baby we had lost before we had you and how daddy and I said goodbye and how you would get to meet another sibling someday. You listened so compassionately that I could see you maturing right in front of me. We talked about heaven and you talked about all the things you wanted to do now that you are nine. You are such a thinker and I loved the chance to focus on you and to watch you laugh as you snuck more sugar in your tea. We walked around the Choo Choo, ate ice cream, watched the fish and you grabbed my hand and I tried to memorize your sweet, lanky, nine year old self.<br />
There are days I feel how quickly it is going and how much I need to teach you to be ready for this wide broken world. Parenting gets harder, I can't lie. It was a different kind of care when you were tiny. I could soothe you, and nurse you and rock you and you would be okay. Now there are so many questions and there are days when your strong will wears on me and you don't want to hear what I have to say and I feel like a failure. But I know God gave us to each other and that He will shepherd me as I try to guide you through growing. I will love you with my whole heart always, son of mine. We will pray, and hug and forgive and pray some more. Even on the hardest days when you are restless or fitful, I slip into your room after you are asleep and slide books from under your arms and watch you peaceful, and whisper blessings and love over you. I am overwhelmed with the gift you are to me.<br />
The other day I read a post by one of my favorite blog writers who just gave birth to her fifth child. She said this of her newborn son:<br />
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-family: 'Goudy Bookletter 1911', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22.75px;">"We meet and it's passionate and needy and I feed my child, I have fed my children and I have kissed every inch of their faces, if only for a short while. </span><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-family: 'Goudy Bookletter 1911', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22.75px;">These cycles are not like a life cycle, or the slow turning of the earth. It's more like the wheel of a bicycle spinning through a tree-lined neighborhood, the sun glinting off its spokes. We ride quickly and the wind on our faces is like the gentlest touch, it's full of the scent of flowers." </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-family: 'Goudy Bookletter 1911', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22.75px;">~ Journey Mama</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-family: 'Goudy Bookletter 1911', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22.75px;"><br /></span>I loved how she put that and I remember well.<br />
<span style="font-family: Goudy Bookletter 1911, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22.75px;">It took me back to the day I first became a mother, still so poignant and fresh in my mind. So many hours I labored, body shaking, and afraid. I knew something was wrong when my midwife and nurses would not look me in the eyes. But your daddy was holding my hand the whole time, praying over me, speaking strength. Your head was stuck and there was panic and voices were urgent. When I felt totally wrung out and broken, I remember my only thought. "God please hold my son." In that moment I didn't care what happened to me. I didn't care if they cut me open with a sword, I just desperately wanted to hear you cry. I wanted to hear life. I realized then that I would willingly die for you. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Goudy Bookletter 1911, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22.75px;">Then after pain and panic came you... perfect and pink and wailing. They gave you to me and you calmed and looked right into my eyes. I had never known such immediate and overwhelming love. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Goudy Bookletter 1911, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22.75px;">I remember those early cycles of sleeping and kisses and nursing and watching you in awe. It's strange now to see that quick retreat from little boyhood and to see you becoming my little man.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Goudy Bookletter 1911, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22.75px;"> I want to be a mom who will help you to be earnest, compassionate, curious, and brave enough to always be honest. I want you to value justice and peace, to open doors for ladies, to always have your sisters' back, and to be who you are, unapologetically. I want you to not overlook the hurting and needy around you. Let Jesus break your heart with what breaks his. Find your identity in how God has shaped your heart not in anything that you do. Always look for the best in people and overlook the prickles, everyone has a story. Never be too busy to go outside, rain or shine, to notice, to watch stars. No matter how hard things get, open your eyes to the ways God is loving you. They are always many, even when you feel alone. Above all, let your heart blaze with love for Him who made you and gave you all things. I will not parent you perfectly, not even close but I will walk with you, learn with you, guide you and love you. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Goudy Bookletter 1911, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22.75px;">My son, you are joy to my heart.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Goudy Bookletter 1911, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22.75px;">Love, </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Goudy Bookletter 1911, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22.75px;">Mom</span></span><br />
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<br />lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-78604311221880516192013-02-05T14:07:00.000-08:002013-02-05T14:09:03.212-08:00hobbit party<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b> "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit."</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"> -J.R.R. Tolkien, </span><i style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">The Hobbit</i><br />
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Josh has been reading Juden The Lord of the Rings series and so as his ninth birthday neared he knew exactly what he wanted. The Shire! Can you blame him. It was pretty fun trying to make the world of Tolkien come alive. I kind of like hobbit life, a cozy hole in the ground filled with books and candles, pipes, music and feasting. </div>
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A hobbit has to have hairy feet.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuelZphNQyHxEUP0X8zw0WVPs9zUMsnHgqdeD8aYw8IjiWzx4se-Q11WYQr0MHNQ9mEwXZsshyfP-crIfI6a5-KS5l0vdc6C1hZGtZAR1sQxS_yF3uJJFUkq0VYmMO9xm_CY74/s1600/February+13+066.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuelZphNQyHxEUP0X8zw0WVPs9zUMsnHgqdeD8aYw8IjiWzx4se-Q11WYQr0MHNQ9mEwXZsshyfP-crIfI6a5-KS5l0vdc6C1hZGtZAR1sQxS_yF3uJJFUkq0VYmMO9xm_CY74/s640/February+13+066.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The littlest hobbit enjoying his second breakfast.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSPYvNk3WA96sRfDGGVu0V9SZgrQ8poic0jcArW4oLJn68aXnPvesdT9Bh2lxWCCejM8EEpJzCd6K1IfgVYGAHbB05YnIzxmATjpR1DVx-dtjINxRiG6JO16pV5mxr8Fc9_1F4/s1600/February+13+175-002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSPYvNk3WA96sRfDGGVu0V9SZgrQ8poic0jcArW4oLJn68aXnPvesdT9Bh2lxWCCejM8EEpJzCd6K1IfgVYGAHbB05YnIzxmATjpR1DVx-dtjINxRiG6JO16pV5mxr8Fc9_1F4/s640/February+13+175-002.jpg" width="514" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hobbit sisters welcome friends.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjDLy6CA5AxUWs6uhrg6kWCk452V_Lavd6QZUl85poMteB2Nxg5SYBGrRydM5wQW2O7Lz-XzMiKXEk_tvc9B7Jf0uofXjW1B3-jNc2L3oLr63Vbi6S7UvFP7jwzz78Oqpgvl90/s1600/February+13+303.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjDLy6CA5AxUWs6uhrg6kWCk452V_Lavd6QZUl85poMteB2Nxg5SYBGrRydM5wQW2O7Lz-XzMiKXEk_tvc9B7Jf0uofXjW1B3-jNc2L3oLr63Vbi6S7UvFP7jwzz78Oqpgvl90/s640/February+13+303.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Planning adventures through Middle earth.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9NuAGaBtJlqH4-62DSBHopiDdZCYjs2dMQ9BbsDrLwa1ThiyswCcDqrRiIG7fcmAwtVOneqnVsu-G-RKC0VzWm3OC-fE0Dyjc1c9uXl2uWGztDFj1uUxchci9eNRd0ySkszYJ/s1600/February+13+006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9NuAGaBtJlqH4-62DSBHopiDdZCYjs2dMQ9BbsDrLwa1ThiyswCcDqrRiIG7fcmAwtVOneqnVsu-G-RKC0VzWm3OC-fE0Dyjc1c9uXl2uWGztDFj1uUxchci9eNRd0ySkszYJ/s640/February+13+006.jpg" width="456" /></a>They searched for rings in Shelob's Lair, played pin the ring on Bilbo, colored some stained glass elves and dwarves, played Lego's and ran around outside with swords, and bows and arrows. </div>
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Gandalf arrives cake.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">A good way to remember turning nine I think.</span><br />
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lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-80134009103474706462013-01-30T11:59:00.001-08:002013-01-31T11:55:36.208-08:00nourish<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The whole month has almost slipped away with no words here, and for good reason I suppose. I am now home-schooling all of the kids and we are all adjusting to this new season of joint learning and a whole new rhythm to our days. My days are full and sometimes there is not enough of me to go around, feeding this one, teaching one to read, going over the times tables and on and on. I have to say that this is where God has led our family for the moment and I am loving it. I love the extra time to snuggle, read and watch them make connections. I'm sure I'll have days I want to hide in the closet but so far they've been excited about it and I am so grateful to begin my days listening to Ella read <u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Jesus-Calling-365-Devotions-Kids/dp/1400316340">Jesus Calling</a></u> while I cook breakfast and then we start school in our jammies. It's a month for new beginnings and I am liking this one.<br />
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~ <i>Florence Scovel Shinn</i>~</div>
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There is so much to celebrate. We enjoyed the day with family and more family on their way, food and gifts given with so much love. At least for a little while, all was calm and bright. Hoping your Christmas and New Year is filled with moments of peace and joy.<br />
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<br />lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-7423372118906214402012-12-22T20:30:00.000-08:002012-12-25T19:20:01.602-08:00*still*<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
"To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance.To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never , never to forget."</div>
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~Arundhati Roy~</div>
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It's been a strange week after the events in <a href="http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2012/12/what-happened-newtown-connecticut-elementary-school-shooting">Newtown</a> last week... I had no words. Still don't really. Only silence, and prayers, and weeping felt appropriate. Horrific headlines are nothing new in this old sin-sick world sadly. But something about finding out while I wrapped presents, while two of my babies were at school, my husband a teacher...it hit me hard. I wept for those precious lives taken that day. I watched Juden and Ella run through the yard home from school. I think their smiles were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I hugged their small frames, drank in their chatter and laughter, the normalness of it, shoes and backpacks thrown on the floor. My heart broke for so many parents whose evening would be a living nightmare, whose lives would never be the same.<br />
This is the season of advent, of waiting, worshiping, pruning this ragged heart of mine, anticipating my manger-born King's return. But for now, we are faced with so much tragedy, madness, bloodshed, and resounding evil, in Newtown and around the globe every day. It is in the headlines and in my heart too. Creation groans. My rage against evil is heightened as is my longing and awe for Jesus whose light shines brighter against the darkness.<br />
"<i>that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together as in the pains of childbirth until now.And not only the creation but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience</i>." ~Romans 8:21-25<br />
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As I stood in church last Sunday I could barely get these words out,<br />
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"<i>Come thou long expected Jesus, </i><br />
<i>Born to set thy people free;</i><br />
<i> from our fears and sins release us, </i><br />
<i>let us find our rest in thee. </i><br />
<i>Israel's strength and consolation, </i><br />
<i>hope of all the earth thou art; </i><br />
<i>dear desire of every nation, </i><br />
<i>joy of every longing heart. </i><br />
<i>Born thy people to deliver, </i><br />
<i>born a child and yet a King, </i><br />
<i>born to reign in us forever, </i><br />
<i>now thy gracious kingdom bring. </i><br />
<i>By thine own eternal spirit rule in all our hearts alone; </i><br />
<i>by thine all sufficient merit, </i><br />
<i>raise us to thy glorious throne."</i><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; color: blue;"> </span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">Our long expected Lord; he reigns, he redeems. His heart broke over death and evil. He was no stranger to the ugly and profane. I think of how the God of all creation wrapped himself in human flesh and came to the womb of a young peasant girl. All because he would not leave us in our sin. He was willing to suffer every pain and rejection. There was nothing hallmark about his birth, no cozy glowing stable. Jesus came surrounding the massacre of all the male babies in the vicinity of Bethlehem. His life ushered in with bloodshed and evil. All I can think of is Joseph, this weary traveler, anxious that he could provide no safe, clean place for his young bride to give birth. Did they wonder what God was doing when door after door closed to them? And then Mary who without hesitation responded, "May it be done to me according to your word." She gave her body and her heart for the glory of God. So trusting and so vulnerable, in pain giving birth to our Savior, on the ground in a stable on some starry night amongst the stench of animals. This is how the king of glory came to us, so humble and yet the heavens, triumphant, rejoiced and still we rejoice for the one who will make all things new. </span><br />
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When my heart groans with the weight of things I can't even comprehend, I am reminded that even in the darkest places the light of Christ shines. People rise up to action, to compassion, to help. The light of kindness and love shatters through what threatens to drown us. </div>
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Lately, I am craving those moments of calm, and stillness that come like a breeze. The way her voice sounds singing Away in a Manger, the perfect blue sky, the way they look when they're asleep, the way the afternoon sun slants across the wall, the feel of soft cheeks on my neck. Soaking up the beauty, mourning with those who mourn, and praying against the darkness. </div>
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Drinking it all in and knowing that Jesus, </div>
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He's coming again.</div>
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<br />lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-41513940042442315042012-12-14T05:06:00.001-08:002012-12-14T05:07:47.520-08:00Morning bird watching<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My two littlest ones have this habit that I really adore. Every once in a while after the flurry of getting the big kids out the door to school in the morning, I sit and have tea and read for bit and my littles pull their chairs up to the window and watch the birds pointing and chatting. "Look Harper, there's a cardinal!" she says. I love how kids are never really in a hurry, they notice so much. In the everyday of full to do lists, it's little moments of quiet with sleepy faces and morning light, that I treasure.<br />
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<br />lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-88254438132839663532012-12-13T19:07:00.002-08:002012-12-13T19:07:43.387-08:00Ginkgo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A few weeks ago...</div>
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and now.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8FlOV1lhv2UcQe3E8Nf937cHvWyhitl0nR7JrSBn7B3BrTSrHGrIYEN-JkveS91bqmk4WU8-h0SUPKKL7CwFuT1_zQi3Am_y3EHFsnWqwkpmRYt2BycZuCVtWypdA3wz3GyW8/s1600/Nov+12+055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8FlOV1lhv2UcQe3E8Nf937cHvWyhitl0nR7JrSBn7B3BrTSrHGrIYEN-JkveS91bqmk4WU8-h0SUPKKL7CwFuT1_zQi3Am_y3EHFsnWqwkpmRYt2BycZuCVtWypdA3wz3GyW8/s640/Nov+12+055.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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I watched this tree go from glory to bare as these days tumble forward to Christmas. W<span style="text-align: center;">inter is here.</span><br />
<br />lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-15927788982002906592012-12-03T11:13:00.002-08:002012-12-03T11:23:07.743-08:00*december, how I love thee*<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>"Whatever may be the tensions and stresses of a particular day, there is always lurking close at hand the trailing beauty of forgotten joy or unremembered peace." ~ Howard Thurman</b></div>
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I love this Nikki McClure calender and how it always feels so familiar, looks like my three loves around our fire pit.<br />
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December is off to a mild start, all breezy and Spring-like. I still feel like a kid getting lights and ornaments out. This weekend included a children's concert where I watched my wild boy and thought how much he is like his daddy, watched my man play a show with friends in an old auto body shop while the sky turned pink behind us, and a Main Street parade. I am feeling the love for this town and community. Lots of hard play was followed by a lazy Sunday. With baby and husband napping peacefully, I snuck outside with some chai only to be followed soon by these crazies:) They are a force to be reckoned with, love them so.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFE1t49QCMqWzGCHOv7M8Pi4aZzEmblJkpfTXPYuRyerttzTde2enlmLoor5x_8ZtQSR40Ke4vri0lC2Y7_8r9TOWjwk9RN44rzb54yoA_KJc4WOqCCEjE_logmQzcBl5OswSu/s1600/December+12+086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFE1t49QCMqWzGCHOv7M8Pi4aZzEmblJkpfTXPYuRyerttzTde2enlmLoor5x_8ZtQSR40Ke4vri0lC2Y7_8r9TOWjwk9RN44rzb54yoA_KJc4WOqCCEjE_logmQzcBl5OswSu/s640/December+12+086.jpg" width="640" /></a>lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34077236.post-60625081060027067922012-11-30T20:43:00.003-08:002012-11-30T20:43:50.429-08:00this moment<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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{this moment} - A Friday ritual.</div>
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A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week.</div>
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A simple, special, extraordinary moment.</div>
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A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.</div>
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<em>Inspired by <a href="http://www.soulemama.com/" style="color: #f9410a; text-decoration: initial;">SouleMama</a> </em></div>
lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09169781990391571288noreply@blogger.com1