How to Be Happy

Here's my little guy with our 48-star flag, no offense to Alaska and Hawaii.
Yesterday he stood on this same sofa, so he could see out the big window, as soon as I told him that Isaac was coming home. He ran to the sofa, climbed up as fast as he could, and chattered and laughed and expected Isaac to show up that very minute. Seconds later (I was making dinner in the next room), he fell ingloriously onto the hard floor. He cried to break your heart. He has a big goose-egg on his already square-ish head.

And such is life. One minute we're laughing and looking forward to something with great joy. The next minute we've been knocked off our perch and we're badly hurt, crying even, and surprised by how much pain hurts.

Sometimes when I'm setting out to write something here, certain faces drift across my mind. I think of these precious faces and the hearts that beat near those faces, and I just want to reach through the screen and offer up huge helpings of encouragement and support.

Usually I just tell my own story, sometimes a fraction of my story, and most of the time I try to focus on joy.

But some days are hard. Here, in this house, some days are hard. Sometimes I find myself injured by those closest to me. And sometimes, what is so much harder to bear, I find that I have caused the injury.

It's a long and delicate dance, waltzing through life in community with other humans. Without them we are miserable. With them, we are subject to discomfort. Here are some of the ways I pick myself up and dust myself off when the dance becomes awkward and I find myself tripping. Here are the things I do to be happy.

~ Avoid introspection. For me, this means to take my mind off my injury (or my perceived injury) and firmly place my mind on Jesus. This can be so hard to do. It helps to say out loud, Jesus, help me take my eyes off myself and just look at you. Worship music can help (although I struggle mightily with some modern worship songs, so it has to be the right kind of music or I get even more grumpy).

~Be quick to apologize. This one is pure freedom. It's so, so difficult for me. Its difficulty reveals my pride. Those closest to me have noticed this and pointed it out and ugh, I hate it. But the more I do it, the easier it becomes. Every time, I go into apology with dread and pride clinging to me. But every time, it's such a relief to humbly ask forgiveness. Wow, I should do this more.

~ Be the first to forgive. Yes, this one is hard too! Again, it helps to speak forgiveness out loud, every day if necessary. The forgiveness is for my own freedom. It's the forgiveness of Christ. It's nothing I have to feel or manufacture. It's all a gift from Him. He completes the action.

~ Rest in His approval. Do I seek the approval of men, or of God? I thought I sought the approval of God, until I started writing this blog. Suddenly I cared what other people thought of my writing. I was quick to pick up an offense when a friend (I didn't mind at all with a stranger) said they never read my blog. (Yes, this happened). I had to lay down that offense, repeatedly if needed, and remember that I have an Audience of One. He loves me so much. He loves you so much. Nothing, nothing we do can separate us from his love. It is an inexhaustible well. It is enough to fill the gaps when human love fails. It is enough to heal me of any wound. It is enough to make me want to breathe deeply again, after hours of shallow breaths of anxiety. It is enough.

So rest in that, beloved friend, and I will try to do the same.

I love this encouraging song from Need to Breathe. Listen to it here.

Dear June

 

Dear June,

Please don't go away. You have been glorious. Your days have slipped by like nearly perfect pearls on a string. Now we are down to the last pearl, and I want to knot the string and hold it still for awhile longer.

What I have loved best about you is that everything is growing. Growing so fast that from one day to the next, seeds burst into life, leaves burst into green, flowers burst into beauty.

Maybe the reason I want you to hold still is that my baby is growing, too. He is a big boy, running everywhere, not talking much but understanding almost everything we say. I have had four other babies, and they have each and every one insisted on growing up. But those babies were born when I was a young mama, and I welcomed their independence. This baby came to us late in life. I want to cradle him longer, sing to him more, stare at his face while it is yet soft and dimpled. And even though I treasure all these moments with him, still he grows and grows.

I am not going to ask for the impossible thing. I know these early summer days are giving way to mid-summer, with heat and harvest and in our family, a wedding. I know that July will be memorable.

But Oh! June. I am going to miss  you.

(The soundtrack to our summer has been "Rivers in the Wasteland," the newest album from Need to Breathe. Caleb took Julia to the concert when, at the last minute, Krista couldn't go. Julia was overjoyed. I told her - It's a good thing you were vocal about how much you like that band. Ask for what you want. In particular, ask God for what you want. He delights in giving us the desires of our heart!)

Listen to one of my fave tracks  here.

Bounty and the Very Good

 My date for the weekend, not looking too happy.

He thought he was going outside to play, then he got roped into picture-taking.

This week:

~Another lovely bridal shower for Krista, my son's fiance. When we walked up to the front door of her aunt's house, we saw beautiful chalkboard lettering that read, "33 days till she's Mrs. Murphy!" I got teary-eyed. It's such a precious time for them. Also, WHAT?? Mrs. Murphy? I'm hardly Mrs. Murphy myself. That would be Nate's mom. She's the real Mrs. Murphy!

~My adored Gramma Ericson's piano was delivered to our house, courtesy of my aunt and uncle. Anna Kate has been over the moon about it. She learned by leaps and bounds on our keyboard, but she was always hankering after a real piano. She will not stop playing. The other morning, Nate and I were trying to pray together, and finally he hollered at her to stop the music. Then he muttered to me, "It sounds like a freaking saloon in here." She spent most of the weekend taking off the bench upholstery and painting the seat of the bench. It's white, but she might give it a coat of green eventually.

~The garden is growing, but the weeds in the yard are growing faster. When we moved here, this had been farmland. Not one useful thing grew on our 2 1/2 acres. We planted trees and sculpted hills and created gardens and sowed lawn. Now the perimeters of our property have become a sort of wild beast. There's an unidentified weed that is climbing along the hills, snaking up into the pine trees and threatening to overtake  them. Our weed trees, which are Siberian Elm, are pure evil and must be eradicated. Suddenly there are thousands of them. Nate and the boys used to cut them down every summer, which is sweaty, dirty work. The trees have to be cut about an inch below the ground. I'm trying to cut down about 20 per day. Nate and his knee are still out of commission, so he can't do heavy yard work. And of course we miss our handy dandy big boys, who after years of manual labor around here decided to become an engineer and a doctor. Whatever.    

 

Today I'm going to replant some of the garden rows where nothing has come up. I found these striped zucchini seeds, and I'll plant about two of them. They're saved from our harvest of a few years ago, and I hope they still "work." We want zucchini, but we don't want to be overwhelmed by zucchini.

The upcoming wedding, the garden, the seeds, all remind me of a post from last summer. Here is part of what I wrote then. If your life seems barren and hopeless these days, remember that something is always growing. God is in the business of creating, every day, every minute. Someday you will see fruit. Until then, rest in the hope of a future bounty, a feast so delicious that it will fill every empty space.

As I listened to Michael and Brooke say their vows to each other, I thought,

These vows are thorough, they cover just about everything.

I liked that they promised not to slander one another.

My husband and I talked about those vows, as we drove home after the wedding.

Maybe they were idealistic, we agreed.

It's impossible not to be a bit idealistic, when you're twenty-one years old and full of love.

When you say "For richer or poorer,"

you're imagining richer.

When you say, "In sickness and in health,"

you cannot predict what sickness might look like, 

or how it can destroy peace and rob joy.

We know something about that.  

 

I think of the marriages I know

that have begun in a cloud of hope and optimism, 

and have been ground down to death.

Usually the death is brought on by either generational curses

or by addiction.

We know something about that, too.

I have great hope for Michael and Brooke,

and for the other couples we saw married this summer.

The way I see it, 

they're part of the story of God,

part of His "tov," His "very good,"

and what they did, in this culture of death and man-made definitions, 

was to choose life.

I thought a lot about life, about "tov," about God's plan for renewal and rebirth,

when we planted our garden this spring.
The Hebrew word "tov" has subtle variations of meaning, 
one being "its good is hidden within it."

Some seeds don't grow.

They have no life in them.

Other seeds, the good ones, the very good ones,

grow beautifully.

And what they produce, the fruit that we can eat and not be afraid of eating,

is so good that it too contains seeds of life,

seeds that are very good,

seeds that we can use again next year.

And that is "tov."

It regenerates.

The life in it grows, and nurtures, and gives birth to more life, more nurture.

And that is why I still believe in marriage.

Because it's not just about love.

It's about life.

Genesis 1:27-31
So God created man in his own image,
in the image of God he created them;
male and female he created them.

And God blessed them. And God said to them, "Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth." And God said, "Behold, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is on the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit. You shall have them for food. And to every beast of the earth and to every bird of the heavens and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food." And it was so. And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good.  

Another excuse to hear a favorite song by Josh Garrels.  Listen to it here.

One Morning in June

What happens when a garden is filled with free plants?
Beautiful chaos happens.
This long rock garden represents almost no money.  Virtually all the plants were given by a friend who inherited overwhelming gardens and decided to replace some of them with lawn.
But I have spooled out precious hours here, weeding and yanking and moving things.

These days, I don't wander through my gardens sipping coffee and meditating.
No.
I chase a toddler.
But a few times a week, I go out to work a bit, and it is so peaceful.

For the last few weeks, I've been singing the same hymn while I work.

It's my current favorite, and it sums up everything that I hold to be true.

Isn't it amazing, that a song written in 1834 can bring me so much peace?

That's how it is with beauty and truth.

They hold up well.        

My hope is built on nothing less

Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness;

I dare not trust the sweetest frame,

But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

When darkness veils His lovely face,

I rest on His unchanging grace;

In every high and stormy gale,

My anchor holds within the veil.

His oath, His covenant, His blood
Support me in the whelming flood;
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my hope and stay.    

When He shall come with trumpet sound,

Oh, may I then in Him be found;

Dressed in His righteousness alone,

Faultless to stand before the throne.

Refrain:
On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand;
All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.

Words by Edward Mote
Composer: John Stainer
Tune: The Magdalen

From Good Stock

For twenty-four years, I've been parenting children with this man.
In the early days, we look like kids ourselves.
The moments have tumbled by, faster and faster with each baby,
and we have been blessed to always have a little hand to hold.         

It's not always been easy.
We've been, some years, poor and exhausted and impatient and immature.
Many times, our energy ran out before the day ran out.
Somehow we hung on.
 

When he was born, it seemed as though Malachi was a kind of reward,
a prize of untold worth, a treasure that arrived, unbidden, after years of famine.   

His tee shirt is from his aunt who lives in Germany.
When she gave it to him, she translated the words: "From Good Stock."
Then she laughed and said, "Literally, it translates, 'The Parents are Not Bad.'"

And my friends, that about sums it up.
The parents are not bad.
We've made many mistakes, we promise we'll make more.
That's the way of parenting, even with the shreds of wisdom we've earned.

Happy Father's Day.

While I was pregnant with Malachi, we decided to read the book of Malachi. These are the words that amazed us. They seemed to give context to the wonder of our late-in-life, late-in-marriage, baby. We were seeing the reward of our covenant. "Another thing you do: You flood the LORD's altar with tears. You weep and wail because he no longer pays attention to your offerings or accepts them with pleasure from your hands. 14 You ask, "Why?" It is because the LORD is acting as the witness between you and the wife of your youth, because you have broken faith with her, though she is your partner, the wife of your marriage covenant. 15 Has not [the LORD] made them one? In flesh and spirit they are his. And why one? Because he was seeking godly offspring. So guard yourself in your spirit, and do not break faith with the wife of your youth." (from the book of Malachi, Chapter 2)

Take the Long View

Speckled and spiny,
fat and crowded,
this aloe is not exactly beautiful.

It's interesting.

It's a live sculpture,
grown from a tiny sprout
that my Grandma gave to me.

It makes its home in a German pot
perched on a mirrored gear. 

But what is this?
In my dining room,
sharing air with the aloe
and the driftwood cross
and my new tree-basket chandelier?

It's a beautiful mess.
You can see Julia's leather accessories here. 

In the backyard, the meadow grass is brilliant green. 
The trees have not yet leafed.
Malachi loves to stand at this window and gaze outside.

This week,
I'm trying to take the long view.
The days are spent restoring order,
picking up toys,
calming tantrums,
settling a restless little one down for a nap. 
(I had amnesia as far as raising a toddler was concerned).

When I back away a bit from the myopia
of the dailyness
of it all,
I see the picture more clearly.

What a mess meets the eyes of my heart.
I feel small and helpless in the face of such sorrow.
I want to do something.

I've been awake since before 2:00 a.m.,
my mind flitting from thing to thing,
the way minds do.
Memories of our family day yesterday,
walking around the Island on Julia's campus.
Images of our latest house plan.
A beloved friend's face.   
Children around the globe, misused and tormented.            

Slowly, I gather my thoughts
into prayers.
I lay aside the flights of fancy 
and begin to notice the burdens that I'm bearing.
I lay them before Jesus, one by one.

It is not a small thing
to bring before the One Who Sees
my faltering pleas
for mercy.
   


"If any of you feel, But how can we be happy while we are burdened by the sins and sorrows of the world? I say to you, 'O thou enemy, destructions are come to a perpetual end...But the Lord shall endure for ever...He shall judge the world in righteousness' (Ps. 9:6-8). The day when that word will be fulfilled is on its way, it is hastening. So in faith and certainty we rejoice, for sin and sorrow shall not endure forever; they have an end." (Amy Carmichael)










 

These Busy, Boring Years

If a perfect weekend around here includes time with our older kids, lovely weather, good music, and some fun and frolic thrown in for good measure, then no.  
This was not a perfect weekend.
It started strong. On Thursday night, Anna Kate and I went to a Gospel concert. One of my  friends sings in the only all-female Southern Gospel quartet in the nation. Based right here in Minnesota. What a delight to hear their rich voices lifted up in praise. I'm already starting a song list of requests for their next album.
To add to the excitement of going to a concert, a real concert - the first I've gone to since Josh Garrels was here a year ago - my husband watched the baby all by himself. He balked at the idea. He wanted Anna Kate here for back-up, he knew he'd have a long night of it. He got pep-talk texts from my friend Vicki, who is so kind and gentle. "Tell him I know he can on the dad sitting! He's done much harder things in his life I would think! He can do it!"
Me: "He doesn't want to be stuck here."
Vicki: "Tell him it's good character building for him. It will be real handy down the road for something! Good male bonding time with son too!"

Yep. They stayed, they played, they bonded.

But after the concert, things devolved.
Meaning, my comfort was compromised.
Meaning, I was bored and busy at the same time.

On Saturday, I would have liked to tackle the perennial beds, but instead I played basketball with Malachi. This is how we play: he chases down the six basketballs, judiciously going from ball to ball in turn. As he brings them to me, I lift him as high as I can, which is not high enough. Then I hoist the basketball and try to make a basket, while struggling to keep a grip on my 32-pound boy. Then I set him down, he trundles off for the next ball, and we do it again. And again. There is no limit to the fun he has. He could do this all. day. long.

As for me, the fun  has a limit. On the low side. Maybe after about five baskets, I'm ready to move on. 

Here are Caleb and Malachi on Resurrection Sunday. You betcha, I miss my big kids. They are fantastic with the baby, they know how to talk, they can reach the hoop. You would think I'd be over the moon that Caleb is in med school. Sure, it's great, it's an answer to prayer, he's going to be an excellent doctor. But when I see this picture, I am just so grateful that I raised a young man who can play basketball, all by himself.  

Oh this face, this adorable face. These years are as fleeting as those pretty flowers he's smelling. 
And you know, there are days when I want to freeze time. When it's all so wonderful and beautiful that I want this moment, this exact little slice of time, the one that whoops! just passed me by, to last forever.

When we're all together and Malachi hears us laughing, and he does whatever he's doing again and again, thinking we were laughing at him.(and now, we are).

When his sturdy little body is napping next to me, and I can smell his soft clean baby smell.

When he strangles my neck by draping across me as I try to do Pilates. Oh wait. That's the part I don't actually want to freeze. It's painful (though kinda funny). It means that another thing on my list is not going to get done today.

It's almost embarrassing, how much I want to make my life comfortable and easy. Even after five kids, I wrestle with letting go of my schedule, my desires, my avenues of amusement. I feel like this life is a long exercise in loosening my grip. The Lord is continually prying my fingers off the things that I hold so tightly. (Yah, now you're singing "Let it Go" from Frozen. Nope, I'm not gonna give you that song. I'm leaving you with one from my friend's quartet, Sweetwater Revival).

Here's to the week ahead, my friends. To what we get done, and to what gets done in us.

"Our Lord Jesus did the will of His Father with delight. He hated the iniquity which so often tries to dominate us -- selfishness, surrender to the easy, and so on. Therefore He was the gladdest of all the sons of men. The same law applies to His followers. Who among us can be counted on for happiness? It is those who never take self into consideration at all. They are the happy ones of a family." (Amy Carmichael)

And now for some Southern Gospel: here is "Blessed Assurance," sung by  Sweetwater Revival.
 

Hush

We're having a quiet day at home.
Tonight we'll go to the Good Friday service, and it will be somber.
At the end, we will file out slowly,
participating in a kind of death.

Something has to die for life to come.

Any reminder will do.
For me, silence is a reminder of what He did for me.
But it's hard for a mama to be entirely silent for two nights and a day.
We'll see how this goes.

Here is an old song I had never heard until this year. Sit still and comfortable, and take it into your heart. 

Decorating for Easter (mismatched beautiful)

I dearly love to set a table.
Even with mismatched dishes (how is it that I don't have nine matching bowls?)
and Malachi's determination to help,
this table got mostly set.
Several months ago, we moved our small group (it's like church with close friends) to our house,
since our baby was so destructive at our friends' house that I spent the entire time chasing him.     

It's lovely to gather with friends. 
 

As I was setting the table, placing the chairs, plopping the daffodils in their glass beakers, 
I thought of Jesus preparing the feast for us.
After the work he did, he so wants us to come to the table.
I thought of how hard I was working, making everything beautiful (in a mismatched fashion),
while keeping my little guy out of trouble. 
I would have been so sad, so very disappointed,
if our friends had not shown up.   

It's all about the people, people.
And by the way, I didn't use eggs on this table.
I decorated with flowers and rocks.
A rock is a good symbol for the Resurrection.
        

Before I found and washed the rocks,
before I gathered the missing goblets,
and placed loaves in the basket,
and ladled hot stew into the bowls,
and before this table was surrounded by people I love,

Expectancy was in the air.    

I was reminded of a story. 

¹⁶ Jesus replied: “A certain man was preparing a great banquet and invited many guests. ¹⁷ At the time of the banquet he sent his servant to tell those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.’
¹⁸ “But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said, ‘I have just bought a field, and I must go and see it. Please excuse me.’
¹⁹ “Another said, ‘I have just bought five yoke of oxen, and I’m on my way to try them out. Please excuse me.’
²⁰ “Still another said, ‘I just got married, so I can’t come.’
²¹ “The servant came back and reported this to his master. Then the owner of the house became angry and ordered his servant, ‘Go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame.’
²² “‘Sir,’ the servant said, ‘what you ordered has been done, but there is still room.’
²³ “Then the master told his servant, ‘Go out to the roads and country lanes and compel them to come in, so that my house will be full. ²⁴ I tell you, not one of those who were invited will get a taste of my banquet.’” (Luke 14:16-24)

It's going to be a crazy party, guys.  
And in this upside-down kingdom, 
where one little old mama who is exhausted by her toddler can be welcomed 
(all the better if I'm feeling poor and crippled, right?)
and can be seated, and fed, and heard, 
until I am deeply rested and restored,

in this kingdom,  
everything will be even more beautiful
(mismatched beautiful)
than I can dream or imagine.

 

Happy Easter week, friends.    

(You still have time to start your grass. It takes four or five days to grow to this height).

Links:
Vintage springs can be found here.
Mexican Posole Stew recipe is here.

Lists and Dreams

If you had asked me five years ago where our family would be today,
I could not have told you.
I might have made a wild, hopeful guess that included gainful employment,
health all around, and a vague continuation of education for our children.

If you had showed me this picture, of a sugar-sand beach with my feet and a baby's feet,
and told me that the baby was mine, I'd have laughed you off (with a note of hysteria in my voice).

I believe that God knows our deepest dreams.
All of us have a dim picture in our minds of how we hope things will turn out.

One of our sons has the excellent habit of writing down his goals every year.
One year I saw his list. It was so specific.
It included "Work out four times a week,"
and "Read the Bible every day."

It made me realize that I have never done this.
I have never vocalized my goals, never written out my dreams.
The days and years have unfolded before me with very little planning.
I am constantly surprised by my own life.

Some of the surprises have been lovely.
By the grace of God, I married a kind person when we were only 21 and 22.
And guys, we are so not perfect.
Yet we've been able to stumble through marriage, parenting, years of plenty, years of want,
stretches of good health and mires of illness.

Though we often felt like we were staggering along,
none too gracefully, just pretending to be adults,
we generally made forward motion,
and we were hand in hand.
This is a blessing I do not take for granted.

I'm not going to catalog the surprises that undid me, disappointed me,
filled my mouth with the bitter taste of regret.
But there have been a few of those, too.
If you've lived to a certain age, say 12, you know what I'm talking about.
On various cloudy, cursed days, we want to hide from our own lives.
We say,
"This is not what I thought it would be like.
This is too hard."

"This was not on my list."

Well okay, I can't say that.
I was too lazy to write a list.

But I want to remind you of something.
This one precious life of yours is not random, scattered or haphazard.
It is planned.
And although you may have set detours or potholes in the path,
and sin makes everything hard,
and on bad days you want a different life, somebody else's life,
this is your real life, and it is beautiful.

You may think you are too tattered and bruised to retain any value.
(I have felt this way).
But there is One who loves you so much,
loves me so much,
and He can do anything.
What He does is not usually what is on our list
(if we've had the foresight to write a list).
It will often include a surprise or two.
You'll survey your life one day and say,
"Well would you look at that.
Not what I expected. Not what I asked for.
Not what I planned."

Nope.
It might look more strangely beautiful
than anything you could have dreamed.  

God is amazing that way.

"God is always working to make His children aware of a dream that remains alive beneath the rubble of every shattered dream, a new dream that when realized will release a new song, sung with tears, till God wipes them away and we sing with nothing but joy in our hearts." (Larry Crabb)

   

Only Connect

photograph by BeesKnees

"Only connect!.....
Live in fragments no longer."
(E.M. Forster, Howard's End)

The year I was pregnant with Malachi (yes, it felt like a year), my word was "fearful." I wanted a different word, and I prayed and wrestled to get past it, but when I look back, my journey during those months was marked by fear.
  
Then he was born, and although things were rocky at first, with extra days in the hospital due to severe jaundice, eventually we settled into a peaceful routine. The whole next year was marked by gratitude. Everything seemed too good to be true: the helpful big sisters, the beautiful baby boy, the relaxing schedule of home schooling. The wilderness of illness and joblessness that our family had wandered in for seven long years seemed to be coming to an end. I was tired, taking care of a new baby, but in a lot of ways that mattered, I was rested. Deeply rested. And the word that I most often flung up to heaven was, "Thank you."

Yesterday something happened, a small thing, but it made me stop and notice. I noticed a new feeling, one that's been sneaking up on me, but that I disregarded until now. The feeling was isolation. I explored it as one explores a sore tooth, tentatively, worrying it, nudging it. Drat. I am most definitely feeling isolated.

As I write this, my daughter is enjoying a day with one of her oldest friends. I'm the one who gets the ball rolling on these play dates. I've been concerned since she started home schooling that she wouldn't have enough time with friends. She's perfectly happy to be home with me, as long as she gets to see her cousin and her big sister every week or so. But friend time is important. Friends don't have to choose us. Around them, we learn to be a bit more careful, a tad more polite, a lot more forgiving. A friend cannot be taken for granted.

I remember 22 years ago, when we were frantic, frazzled young moms, my friend Michele asked in desperation, "Where are all the fifty-year-old women? Can't they help us?" Well, I'm not quite that age yet, but I'll tell you where they are. They're working. They're busy making money to pay for their kids' college bills. They're going to Bible Studies. They're exercising. In short, they're making up for the years they spent with young children, when they couldn't go anywhere easily.

So here I stand, with one foot in the Young Mommy Club, and one foot in the Older Mom Club. I thought I would belong to both clubs, and happily skip between my older friends and my younger friends, but that has proven a difficult dance. It seems like I'm in a club all by myself. My attempts to go to Bible Study at my church have been dismal, because I was too nervous to spend the money to put Malachi in nursery. On rare Tuesdays, I convince Anna Kate to come with me, and she plays with the baby for a half hour while I pop in on my small group and reconnect. It's not ideal. I feel guilty for taking her away from schoolwork, and I hardly get any time with my wonderful group.

I don't know what next year will look like. I don't know if we'll move, and if we do, if my friends will be willing to drive that far to see me. I do know that I'm learning a bit more about living life with eyes wide open, looking around to see if maybe there are others who are feeling the way I am. I'm sure there are, because we live in fragmented times.

Here's a song for you, to bless your friendships and your weekend.

Moment

My sister up and left me.
She went to Asia to teach conversational English for three months.
I told her if she had gone to France or Ireland, I would have figured out a way to visit her.
But I must admit,
the pictures she's been emailing have been beautiful.
Strange, some of them, to Western eyes,
but the tiled roofs, blooming flowers, green swards of park grass,
and sweet faces of her new friends,
are captivating.
It's another world
within our world.

The picture that really stood out was one she snapped inside a store.
It showed a bright yellow knit ensemble,
emblazoned with bold English words:   
Moment
Cherish This
Not Not
Trend
Original
Change
After recovering from our fits of giggles,
my daughter and I resolved to never wear unknown words on our persons.          

For some reason, in my labyrinth of memory,
(maybe it was the word "moment"),
the sequence of words brought a song to mind.
"Day by day, and with each passing moment,
strength I find to meet my trials here.
Trusting in the Father's wise bestowment,
I've no cause for worry or for fear.
He whose heart is kind beyond all measure,
gives unto each day what He deems best,
lovingly its part of pain and pleasure,
mingling toil with peace and rest."

(It's a Swedish hymn by a woman named Lina. What's not to love?) 

Now, of course there are days
when we cherish not not the moment.

Days when the trend is painfully original,
and we balk at change. 

Many years ago, I went on a field trip to Underwater World at the Mall of America.
Our school of four-year-olds and adults was herded into a back room
and taught all kinds of things that the general pubic doesn't get to hear.

We learned about starfish. 
A Spanish scientist, testing the regenerating capacity of the creatures,
took a starfish and blended it in a blender.
(Try not to shudder, they don't have brains. Still, kinda icky).   

He took the 300 tiny pieces of starfish out of the blender,
placed them in separate petri dishes,
and waited.

300 new starfish grew.
Perfect little starfish.

Imagine that.
Wonder at the power of life,
of regeneration,
of the truth that the broken bits inside of us  
(sometimes the tiniest shards) 
can grow into something whole and beautiful.

"Therefore we do not lose heart.
Though outwardly we are wasting away,
yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.
For our light and momentary troubles
are achieving for us an eternal glory
that far outweighs them all." 
(II Cor. 4:16,17)      

 

Love Extravagantly

Another cold morning.
Another polar vortex.
Another day of sunshine flooding into the house.
It's so deceptive.

This week we have another funeral.
We didn't know the man who died, but we are old friends with some of the family.
It seems to us that he was robbed of about forty years.

A dear friend of mine is a young widow,
and I have seen her walk this path of loneliness.
The evenings are especially hard.
Time hasn't made things much better.
She has grown accustomed to this new life,
but she doesn't like it.
What does one say to a widow who was happy in her marriage? 
Words can't make up for the loss of a person. 

After a funeral, a house fills with flowers.
But I say,
buy flowers today.
Fill the house with life today.
Be generous with your love, today.
Forgive, and bless, and cover with kisses,
the flawed humans that grace your little world.    

¹² We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!
¹³ But for right now, until that completeness, we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly. And the best of the three is love.
(from I Cor. 13, The Message) 

To hear the most epic of his many epic songs, listen to Josh Garrels here.

My Favorite Things

Someone I'm close to can get out of sorts when she reads my blog,
because she thinks I am effortlessly cheerful and full of joy.
Um, nope.
The winter has been long.
My days have sometimes been lonely.
The baby sleeps in our bed, and he gets me up at least twice every night.
The errands and chores and quiet times
that slowly became achievable as the kids grew,
have now become difficult again.

I don't always see the gifts in ordinary days.       

Today we are in the midst of another winter storm.
Since this is the Year of the Broken Snow-Blowers,
(yes, we have two, and they are both broken)
I'm going to get to shovel about six inches of snow.
I'm finding it difficult to feel happy about this.    


Here are a few gifts I've been given this week. 
I have learned to seek out and reach for all the things within my grasp that increase joy.
No one else can do this for me.
I think of joy as a cistern that is always full,
but I have to grab the dipper and ladle out what I need.
This requires a spirit that is calm enough to receive,        
and eyes wide open to see the beauty each day brings.  
This week, I noticed:  
  

 ~ Sunlight pouring into our living room.   
(Oh, and a toddler playing with a vintage toy makes the room even more fetching).

~ Hearty breakfasts can make me pretty happy.
(I usually make Oatmeal Crepes for Malachi, but lately I've been eating eggs over-easy on oatmeal toast.
So yummy that I often have seconds. I also squeeze a grapefruit and a clementine, and share that with the baby. Sometimes he gulps it all down and I don't get any).  
 
 ~ My church is a wonderful place to be.
Yep, it's always good to have a favorite day of the week (Mine is Sunday). That way you have something to look forward to every single week.

 ~ Old hymns are a continual comfort and delight.
Which one is my favorite? I don't know, but "Come Thou Fount" is near the top of the list.

If I picked worship songs, the list would include one newish song and five hymns. 
Since both radio and church leave me thirsty for more hymns, I have faves at home and in the car.     

~ I can give a present for no reason at all.

So if no one is showing up at your doorstep with a lovely surprise, be the one to give the gift.   
It can be so small, just a card or a single flower.
It's crazy how giving a gift makes you feel even better than getting one.
        
~ It lifts my heart to hear an old friend on the radio.
Michele's encouraging voice, reminding me of God's promises, fills my heart with hope. The words (often straight from Scripture) are perfect for my day and my situation. If you live in or near the Twin Cities, she's on Praise FM 95.3.

It's easy to forget that our days are laced with joys unspeakable and full of glory. (....and for those who know that song, you're now humming it, yay!)          

What is one thing you do that makes your joy increase?
I'd love to know.
   

The Long Winter

On a cold winter morning, my daughter and her cousin tried to play outside in their Little House outfits.
It did not go so well.
The dresses are calico cotton, and because the girls were trying to look authentic, they skipped snow pants and warm hats. Instead, they wore my Grampa Ericson's old coat (the brown suede one) and my black wool coat. They topped their braids with wraps. 
They looked pretty cute, and Malachi was all for joining them, but they were back inside within minutes.

What grows, when the weather is this cold?
Inside our warm house, the ivy from Grampa Murphy's casket spray is growing beautifully.

This December, my daughters decided that the old mantel display had to go.
I was in complete agreement, but somehow, lethargy had set in.
I could not figure out what to do with the big urns on either end of the mantel.
My girls decided to start fresh, and the urns, with the horribly dusty ivy inside them, went bye-bye.
In their place we now have this vintage barn block, a mirrored metal piece from Junk Market, an antler, and Grampa's ivy.
On the other end of the mantel is a potted tree from my friend Vicki. She found it at IKEA for fifty cents, and gave it to me with apologies for its near-death appearance.
It's one of the best gifts I've ever been given.

Every spring, this little tree is covered with pink blossoms.

 

Next up: painting the mantel.

I'll show you the reveal as soon as Nate allows us to paint.

Apparently, it's quite a project.

The stark contrast between my warm house, where children and plants are growing,
and the dangerously cold outdoors, where nothing at all appears to thrive,
astounds me every year.

The truth is that at all times, something is growing.
Whether we see it or not, change is taking place.
Thank you Jesus, for the way you make something beautiful
out of what looks like death and loss.

(Watching Anna Kate and Naomi struggle through the deep snow reminded me of these verses from Isaiah).

 This is what the Lord says—
    he who made a way through the sea,
    a path through the mighty waters, 
 who drew out the chariots and horses,
    the army and reinforcements together,
and they lay there, never to rise again,
    extinguished, snuffed out like a wick: 
“Forget the former things;
    do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!
    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
    and streams in the wasteland. 
 The wild animals honor me,
    the jackals and the owls,
because I provide water in the wilderness
    and streams in the wasteland,
to give drink to my people, my chosen,    
the people I formed for myself
    that they may proclaim my praise."
 (Isaiah 43:16-21)

The Scary Years

    
Here is the knife drawer that Malachi can reach.     

Here is the new home for our knives, an oval platter placed well back on the counter.  
 

Here is our adorable toddler, busily marching back and forth from the knife drawer to the dining room, placing objects on the chair.
You can see some of my favorite kitchen tools: a Swedish cheese slicer (no wire slicers here, thanks to my friend Gretchen. We've used this one for over 15 years and it still slices beautifully); a flat cheese grater (perfect for block parmesan); a small cookie scoop.

I would love to tell you about my other fave kitchen tools, but I have no time, because my days are filled with chasing this baby boy. Keeping him safe and alive has become my main task. I haven't had a little boy in the house for many years. They are different than girls. Girls are talkative and can be active, but Malachi has a yearning to reach and conquer and figure things out mechanically, that our daughters didn't have. In this way he reminds us of Isaac, our oldest, who is a freshly minted engineer.    

We are trying to remember that these frantic years do not last forever, that we successfully kept four other toddlers alive, and that all this energy can be corralled into something that benefits society.

In the mean time, watching him want things that are terrible for him is a fantastic spiritual lesson.

"So, since we're out from under the old tyranny, does that mean we can live any old way we want? Since we're free in the freedom of God, can we do anything that comes to mind? Hardly. You know well enough from your own experience that there are some acts of so-called freedom that destroy freedom. Offer yourselves to sin, for instance, and it's your last free act. But offer yourselves to the ways of God and the freedom never quits. All your lives you've let sin tell you what to do. But thank God you've started listening to a new master, one whose commands set you free to live openly in his freedom!" (from Romans 6, The Message)

Here's to following the ways of God, asking for strength for each day, and encouraging each other along the way.

If you have any tips or advice on keeping toddlers safe, I'm all ears!